“You know,” he told me among other things, “Madame Dolsky’s here.”
“What Madame Dolsky?”
“Can you have forgotten her?—the young Princess Zasyekin whom we were all in love with, and you too. Do you remember at the country-house near Neskutchny gardens?”
“She married a Dolsky?”
“Yes.”
“And is she here, in the theatre?”
“No: but she’s in Petersburg. She came here a few days ago. She’s going abroad.”
“What sort of fellow is her husband?” I asked.
“A splendid fellow, with property. He’s a colleague of mine in Moscow. You can well understand—after the scandal … you must know all about it …” (Meidanov smiled significantly) “it was no easy task for her to make a good marriage; there were consequences … but with her cleverness, everything is possible. Go and see her; she’ll be delighted to see you. She’s prettier than ever.”
Meidanov gave me Zinaïda’s address. She was staying at the Hotel Demut. Old memories were astir within me…. I determined next day to go to see my former “flame.” But some business happened to turn up; a week passed, and then another, and when at last I went to the Hotel Demut and asked for Madame Dolsky, I learnt that four days before, she had died, almost suddenly, in childbirth.