He jumped up, went out of the arbour, and, without looking round, walked into the recesses of the garden furthest from the house.
"Ah! only to get away from here as soon as possible," he thought, clutching his head. "My God! as soon as possible."
The train by which Volodya was to go back with his maman was at eight-forty. There were three hours before the train started, but he would with pleasure have gone to the station at once without waiting for his maman.
At eight o'clock he went to the house. His whole figure was expressive of determination: what would be, would be! He made up his mind to go in boldly, to look them straight in the face, to speak in a loud voice, regardless of everything.
He crossed the terrace, the big hall and the drawing-room, and there stopped to take breath. He could hear them in the dining-room, drinking tea. Madame Shumihin, maman, and Nyuta were talking and laughing about something.
Volodya listened.
"I assure you!" said Nyuta. "I could not believe my eyes! When he began declaring his passion and—just imagine!—put his arms round my waist, I should not have recognised him. And you know he has a way with him! When he told me he was in love with me, there was something brutal in his face, like a Circassian."
"Really!" gasped maman, going off into a peal of laughter. "Really! How he does remind me of his father!"
Volodya ran back and dashed out into the open air.
"How could they talk of it aloud!" he wondered in agony, clasping his hands and looking up to the sky in horror. "They talk aloud in cold blood ... and maman laughed!... Maman! My God, why didst Thou give me such a mother? Why?"