“I can’t,”—said Iván Ílitch, as though just waking up;—“I absolutely can’t.”
“Why not? You are afraid of unpleasantness; but all this will, I hope, remain a secret....”
As he spoke these words, Vladímir Sergyéitch felt himself blushing and growing confused.
“Excuse me, I can’t possibly,”—repeated Iván Ílitch, shaking his head and drawing back, in which operation he again overturned a chair.
For the first time in his life it was his lot to reply to a request by a refusal; but then, the request was such a queer one!
“At any rate,”—pursued Vladímir Sergyéitch, in an agitated voice, as he grasped his hand,—“do me the favour not to speak to any one concerning what I have said to you. I earnestly entreat this of you.”
“I can do that, I can do that,”—hastily replied Iván Ílitch;—“but the other thing I cannot do, say what you will; I positively am unable to do it.”
“Well, very good, very good,”—said Vladímir Sergyéitch;—“but do not forget that I rely on your discretion.... I shall announce to-morrow to that gentleman,” he muttered to himself with vexation,—“that I could not find a second, so let him make what arrangements he sees fit, for I am a stranger here. And the devil prompted me to apply to that gentleman! But what else was there for me to do?”
Vladímir Sergyéitch was very, very unlike his usual self.
In the meantime, the ball went on. Vladímir Sergyéitch would have greatly liked to depart at once, but departure was not to be thought of until the end of the mazurka. How was he to give up to his delighted antagonist? Unhappily for Vladímir Sergyéitch, the dances were in charge of a free-and-easy young gentleman with long hair and a sunken chest, over which, in semblance of a miniature waterfall, meandered a black satin neckcloth, transfixed with a huge gold pin. This young gentleman had the reputation, throughout the entire government, of being a man who had assimilated, in their most delicate details, all the customs and rules of the highest society, although he had lived in Petersburg only six months altogether, and had not succeeded in penetrating any loftier heights than the houses of Collegiate Assessor Sandaráki and his brother-in-law, State Councillor Kostandaráki. He superintended the dances at all balls, gave the signal to the musicians by clapping his hands, and in the midst of the roar of the trumpets and the squeaking of the violins shouted: “En avant deux!” or “Grande chaîne!” or “A vous, mademoiselle!” and was incessantly flying, all pale and perspiring, through the hall, slipping headlong, and bowing and scraping. He never began the mazurka before midnight. “And that is a concession,”—he was wont to say;—“in Petersburg I would keep you in torment until two o’clock.”