This answer relieved him enormously. On the afternoon of the next day, when he alighted from the carriage in the outskirts of the town and bade his travelling host good-bye, he was in good enough spirits as he picked up his bag and made his way to the house.
Marfinka and Vikentev were the first to meet him, the dogs leaped to welcome him, the servants hurried up, and the whole household showed such genuine pleasure at his return that he was moved almost to tears. He looked anxiously round to see if Vera was there, but one and another hastened to tell him that Vera had gone away. He ought to have been glad to hear this news, but he heard it with a spasm of pain. When he entered his aunt’s room she sent Pashutka out and locked the door.
“How anxiously I have been expecting you!” she said. “I wanted to send a messenger for you.”
“What is the matter?” he exclaimed, pale with terror in fear of bad news of Vera.
“Your friend Leonti Ivanovich is ill.”
“Poor fellow! What is wrong? Is it dangerous? I will go to him at once.”
“I will have the horses put in. In the meantime I may as well tell you what is known all over the town. I have kept it secret from Marfinka only, and Vera already knows it. His wife has left him, and he has fallen ill. Yesterday and the day before the Koslovs’ cook came to fetch you.”
“Where has she gone?”
“Away with the Frenchman, Charles, who was suddenly called to St. Petersburg. She pretended she was going to stay with her relations in Moscow and said that Monsieur Charles would accompany her so far. She extracted from Koslov a pass giving her permission to live alone, and is now with Charles in St. Petersburg.”
“Her relations with Charles,” replied Raisky, “were no secret to anybody except her husband. Everyone will laugh at him, but he will understand nothing, and his wife will return.”