“Nerves.…” he muttered. “Or perhaps something has gone wrong with her toilet.… Who can account for anything with these women? She'll come back directly—this very minute.”
But when another ten minutes had passed and she had not appeared, he looked at me with such unhappy, imploring eyes that I was sorry for him.
“Would it matter if I went to look for her?” his eyes asked. “Won't you help me, golubchik, to get out of this horrible position? Of all here you are the cleverest, the boldest, the most ready-witted man. Do help me!”
I saw the entreaty in his unhappy eyes and decided to help him. How I helped him the reader will see farther on.… I will only say that the bear who assisted the hermit in Krylov's fable loses all its animal majesty, becomes pale, and turns into an innocent infusoria when I think of myself in the part of the “obliging fool.” … The resemblance between me and the bear consists only in this that we both went to help quite sincerely without foreseeing any bad consequences from our help, but the difference between us is enormous.… The stone with which I struck Urbenin's forehead was many times more weighty.…
“Where is Olga Nikolaevna?” I asked the lackey who had brought round the salad.
“She went into the garden, sir,” he replied.
“This is becoming quite impossible, mesdames!” I said in a jocular tone, addressing myself to the ladies. “The bride has gone away and my wine has become quite sour!… I must go to look for her and bring her back, even if all her teeth were aching! The best man is an official personage, and he is going to show his authority!”
I rose, amid the loud applause of my friend the Count, left the dining-room and went into the garden. The hot rays of the midday sun poured straight upon my head, which was already excited by wine. Suffocating heat and sultriness seemed to strike me in the face. I went along one of the side avenues at a venture, and, whistling some sort of melody, I gave full scope to my capacities as an ordinary detective. I examined all the bushes, summer-houses and caves, and when I began to be tormented by the regret that I had turned to the right instead of to the left, I suddenly heard a strange sound. Somebody was laughing or crying. The sounds issued from one of the grottoes that I had left to examine last of all. Quickly entering it, I found the object of my search enveloped in dampness, the smell of mildew, mushrooms, and lime.
She stood there leaning against a wooden column that was covered with black moss, and lifting her eyes full of horror and despair on me, she tore at her hair. Tears poured from her eyes as from a sponge that is pressed.
“What have I done? What have I done?” she muttered.