XXVIII
First they clasped each other’s hands, then Mariana offered to help him tidy his room. She immediately began unpacking his portmanteau and bag, declining his offer of help on the ground that she must get used to work and wished to do it all herself. She hung his clothes on nails which she discovered in the table drawer and knocked into the wall with the back of a hairbrush for want of a hammer. Then she arranged his linen in a little old chest of drawers standing in between the two windows.
“What is this?” she asked suddenly. “Why, it’s a revolver. Is it loaded? What do you want it for?”
“It is not loaded ... but you had better give it to me. You want to know why I have it? How can one get on without a revolver in our calling?”
She laughed and went on with her work, shaking each thing out separately and beating it with her hand; she even stood two pairs of boots under the sofa; the few books, packet of papers, and tiny copy-book of verses she placed triumphantly upon a three-cornered table, calling it a writing and work table, while the other, a round one, she called a dining and tea table. Then she took up the copy-book of verses in both hands and, raising it on a level with her face, looked over the edge at Nejdanov and said with a smile:
“We will read this together when we have some time to spare, won’t we?”
“Give it to me! I’ll burn it!” Nejdanov burst out. “That’s all it’s fit for!”
“Then why did you take it with you? No, I won’t let you burn it. However, authors are always threatening to burn their things, but they never do. I will put it in my room.”
Nejdanov was just about to protest when Mariana rushed into the next room with the copy-book and came back without it.
She sat down beside him, but instantly got up again. “You have not yet been in my room; would you like to see it? It’s quite as nice as yours. Come and look.”