Olia rose, put on her hat in silence, and gave me her hand. Dread was written on her face.
“What if Urbenin gets to know?” she asked, looking at me with wide-open eyes. “He is capable of killing me.”
“What nonsense!” I said, laughing. “What sort of a fellow would I be if I allowed him to kill you? He's hardly capable of such an unusual act as a murder.… Are you going? Well, then, good-bye, my child!… I will wait.… To-morrow, in the wood, near the house where you lived.… Shall we meet there?” …
After seeing Olia off, I returned to my study, where I found Polycarp. He was standing in the middle of the room, he looked sternly at me and shook his head contemptuously.
“Sergei Petrovich, see that this sort of thing does not happen here again; I won't have it,” he said in the tone of a severe parent. “I don't wish it.…”
“What's ‘it’?”
“That thing.… You think I did not see? I saw everything.… See that she doesn't dare to come here again. This is no house for that sort of philandering. There are other places for that.…”
I was in the best of humours, so Polycarp's spying and mentorial tone did not make me angry. I only laughed and sent him to the kitchen.
I had hardly had time to collect my thoughts after Olga's visit when another guest arrived. A carriage rattled up to my door and Polycarp, spitting to each side and with mumbled abuse announced the arrival of “that there fellow, may he be …!” etc., etc. It was the Count, whom he hated with the whole strength of his soul. The Count entered, looked tearfully at me, and shook his head.
“You turn away.… You don't want to speak.…”