"Very well," I said, "at seven-thirty."
After luncheon I crossed the street to see Mikhalovsky, whom I was sure to find in the Club. He was going out with Polenov.
"Aha, dear boy!" Polenov said to me. "The wife is away, and here he runs around like—… (his comparisons are striking, but very rough!) Come on with me. There are no political parties or platforms at Nadejda Stepanovna. A little lawyer, and an old soldier are equally welcome. Nadejda Stepanovna just telephoned there are new ones."
The old fool! As if there was a single living being in the town that would not know that all his pleasures were reduced to kissing a new girl on the forehead and petting her behind the ears! Nadejda Stepanovna told me how they all laughed watching Polenov through the keyhole…. "Thanks," I said, "I am through with the Oficerskaya Street." So he went alone, trying to look younger and straighter.
When he left I asked Makhalovsky to explain to me what happened to the
Baroness. He almost fainted.
"For heavens sake! Don't shout that damned name! There are ears everywhere," he whispered.
He took me by the arm and dragged me all along the Morskaya, giving me short and hard kicks as soon as I would open my mouth. And only when we reached his room and he verified as to whether or not the door was well shut, he said:
"Now what seems to be your question, and what in hell do you know about her? Who told you that something happened to her?"
As this is the time when "homo homini—lupus," I said that nobody ever told me of her, but having met Mikhalovsky at the Club I thought of the Baroness and asked.
"Well," he said, "she was released." And Mikhalovsky became sad and worried, looking humble and frightened.