“What's the matter with you, my enchantress?”
Olga looked at me from head to foot and turned her back on me.
“Only depraved and venal women are spoken to in that tone,” she continued. “You consider me such an one … well, then, go to those saints!… I am worse and baser than any other here.… When you were driving with that virtuous Nadinka you were afraid to look at me.… Well, then, go to her! What are you waiting for? Go!”
“Yes, you are worse and baser than any other here,” I said, feeling that I was gradually being mastered by rage. “Yes, you are depraved and venal.”
“Yes, I remember how you offered me damned money.… Then I did not know its meaning; now I understand.…”
Rage mastered me completely. And this rage was as strong as the love had been that at one time was beginning to be born in me for “the girl in red.” … And who could—what stone could have remained indifferent? I saw before me beauty that had been cast by merciless fate into the mire. No mercy was shown to either youth, beauty or grace.… Now, when this woman appeared to me more beautiful than ever, I felt what a loss nature had sustained in her person, and my soul was filled with painful anger at the injustice of fate and the order of things.…
In moments of anger I am unable to control myself. I do not know what more Olga would have had to hear from me if she had not turned her back upon me and gone away. She walked slowly towards the trees and soon disappeared behind them.… It appeared to me that she was crying.…
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I heard Kalinin making a speech. “On this day when we all have met for … for … in order to unite … we are assembled here, we are all acquainted with each other, we are all enjoying ourselves and this long desired union we owe to nobody else but to our luminary, to the star of our province.… Count, don't get confused.… The ladies understand of whom I am speaking.… He, he he! Well, ladies and gentlemen, let us continue. As we owe all this to our enlightened, to our youthful … youthful … Count Karnéev, I propose that we drink this glass to … But who is driving this way? Who is it?”
A calash was driving from the direction of the Count's house towards the clearing where we were seated.
“Who can it be?” the Count said in astonishment, turning his field glass on the calash. “Hm!… strange!… It must be someone passing by.… Oh, no! I see Kaetan Kazimirovich's face.… With whom is he?”