“Bring my trunk,” he cried. “I am going to St. Petersburg in the morning.” He ran water over his hands and washed his face and eyes before he turned to go to his room.
He could not stay within the four walls of his chamber. He went out again and again, unprotected against the cold, to look at Vera’s window. It was hardly possible to see ten paces ahead in the darkness. He went to the acacia arbour to watch for Vera’s return, and was furious because he could not conceal himself there, now that the leaves had fallen. He sat there in torture until morning dawned, not from passion, which had been drowned in that night’s experiences. What passion would stand such a shock as this? But he had an unconquerable desire to look Vera in the face, this new Vera, and with one glance of scorn to show her the shame, the affront she had put on him, on their aunt, on the whole household, on their society, on womanhood itself. He awaited her return in a fever of impatience. Suddenly he sprang up with an evil look of triumph on his face.
“Fate has given me the idea,” he thought. He found the gates still locked, but there was a lamp before the ikon in Savili’s room, and he ordered him to let him out and to leave the gates unlocked. He took from his room the bouquet holder and hastened to the orangery to the gardener. He had to wait a long time before it opened. The light grew stronger. When he looked over at the trees in the orangery, an evil smile again crossed his face. The gardener was arranging Marfinka’s bouquet.
“I want another bouquet,” said Raisky unsteadily.
“One like this?”
“No, only orange blossoms,” he whispered, turning paler as he spoke.
“Right, Sir,” said the gardener, recalling that one of Tatiana Markovna’s young ladies was betrothed.
“I am thirsty,” said Raisky. “Give me a glass of water.”
He drank the water greedily, and hurried the gardener on. When the second bouquet was ready he paid lavishly.
He returned to the house cautiously, carrying the two bouquets. As he did not know whether Vera had returned in his absence, he had Marina called, and sent her to see if her mistress was at home or had already gone out walking. On hearing she was out he ordered Marfinka’s bouquet to be put on Vera’s table and the window to be opened. Then he dismissed Marina, and returned to the acacia arbour. Passion and jealousy set loose raged unchecked, and when pity raised her head she was quenched by the torturing, overmastering feeling of outrage. He suppressed the low voice of sympathy, and his better self was silent. He was shuddering, conscious that poison flowed in his veins, the poison of lies and deception.