And, my God! with what fresh violence did love flame up within me!
XVI
After dinner the visitors were assembled again in the wing, and the young Princess came out to them. The whole company was present, in full force, as on that first evening, never to be forgotten by me: even Nirmátzky had dragged himself thither. Maidánoff had arrived earlier than all the rest; he had brought some new verses. The game of forfeits began again, but this time without the strange sallies, without pranks and uproar; the gipsy element had vanished. Zinaída gave a new mood to our gathering. I sat beside her, as a page should. Among other things, she proposed that the one whose forfeit was drawn should narrate his dream; but this was not a success. The dreams turned out to be either uninteresting (Byelovzóroff had dreamed that he had fed his horse on carp, and that it had a wooden head), or unnatural, fictitious. Maidánoff regaled us with a complete novel; there were sepulchres and angels with harps, and burning lights and sounds wafted from afar. Zinaída did not allow him to finish. “If it is a question of invention,”—said she,—“then let each one relate something which is positively made up.”—Byelovzóroff had to speak first.
The young hussar became confused.—“I cannot invent anything!”—he exclaimed.
“What nonsense!”—interposed Zinaída.—“Come, imagine, for instance, that you are married, and tell us how you would pass the time with your wife. Would you lock her up?”
“I would.”
“And would you sit with her yourself?”
“I certainly would sit with her myself.”
“Very good. Well, and what if that bored her, and she betrayed you?”
“I would kill her.”