“What will Grandmother say?”
“There will be a storm. I do feel rather uneasy about it, but perhaps she will forgive me. I may tell you, Boris Pavlovich, that I love both the girls, as if they were my own daughters. I held them on my knee as babies, and with Tatiana Markovna gave them their first lessons. I tell you in confidence that I have also arranged a wedding present for Vera Vassilievna which I hope she will like when the time comes.” He showed Raisky a magnificent antique silver dinner service of fine workmanship for twelve persons. “I may confess to you, as you are her cousin, that in agreement with Tatiana Markovna I have a splendid and a rich marriage in view for her, for whom nothing can be too good. The finest partie in this neighbourhood,” he said in a confidential tone, “is Ivan Ivanovich Tushin, who is absolutely devoted to her, as he well may be.”
Raisky repressed a sigh and went home where he found Vikentev and his mother, who had arrived for Marfinka’s birthday, with Paulina Karpovna and other guests from the town, who stayed until nearly seven o’clock. Tatiana Markovna and Marfa Egorovna carried on an interminable conversation about Marfinka’s trousseau and house furnishing. The lovers went into the garden, and from there to the village. Vikentev carrying a parcel which he threw in the air and caught again as he walked. Marfinka entered every house, said good-bye to the women, and caressed the children. In two cases she washed the children’s faces, she distributed calico for shirts and dresses, and told two elder children to whom she presented shoes that it was time they gave up paddling in the puddles.
“God reward you, our lovely mistress, Angel of God!” cried the women in every yard as she bade them farewell for a fortnight.
CHAPTER XXIII
In the evening the house was aglow with light. Tatiana Markovna could not do enough in honour of her guest and future connexion. She had a great bed put up in the guest-chamber, that nearly reached to the ceiling and resembled a catafalque. Marfinka and Vikentev gave full rein to their gay humour, as they played and sang. Only Raisky’s windows were dark. He had gone out immediately after dinner and had not returned to tea.
The moon illuminated the new house but left the old house in shadow. There was bustle in the yard, in the kitchen, and in the servants’ rooms, where Marfa Egorovna’s coachman and servants were being entertained.
From seven o’clock onwards Vera had sat idle in the dusk by the feeble light of a candle, her head supported on her hand, leaning over the table, while with her other hand she turned over the leaves of a book at which she hardly glanced. She was protected from the cold autumn air from the open window, by a big white woollen shawl thrown round her shoulders. She stood up after a time, laid the book on the table, and went to the window. She looked towards the sky, and then at the gaily-lighted house opposite. She shivered, and was about to shut the window when the report of a gun rolled up from the park through the quiet dusk.