When he was left alone and without the revolver he had carried so many years, the half open door letting in the sound of strange voices and the clink of spurs, he felt the whole weight of the great burden he had taken on his shoulders. He walked silently across the room in the direction where They were to be found, and said one word:
»Well?«
A chill came over him as he crossed his arms, facing Them; and that one little word held many meanings—a last farewell—some obscure challenge, some irrevocable evil resolution to fight everyone, even his own comrades—a little, a very little, sense of reproach.
He was still standing there when Liuba ran in, excitedly calling to him from the door.
»Dearie, dearie, now don't be angry. I've asked my friends here, some of them. You don't mind? You see, I want so much to show them my sweetheart, my darling; you don't mind? They're dears! Nobody has taken them this evening and they're all alone. The officers have gone to bed now. One of them noticed your revolver and liked it. A very fine one, he said. You don't mind? You don't mind, dear?« And the girl smothered him with short, sharp kisses.
The women were already coming in, chattering and simpering—five or six of the ugliest or oldest of the establishment—painted, with drooping eyes, their hair combed up over their brows. Some of them affected attitudes of shame, and giggled; others quietly eyed the cognac, and looking at him earnestly shook hands. Apparently they had already been to bed; they were all in scanty wrappers; one very fat woman, indolent and indifferent, had come in nothing but a petticoat, her bare arms and corpulent bosom incredibly fat. This fat woman, and another one with an evil bird-like aged face, on which the white paint lay like dirty stucco on a wall, were quite drunk; the others were merry. All this mob of women, half naked, giggling, surrounded him; and an intolerable stench of bodies and stale beer rose and mingled with the clammy, soapy air of the room. A sweating lackey hurried in with cognac, dressed in a tight frocks coat much too small for him, and the girls greeted him with a chorus of:
»Màrkusha! Oh, Màrkusha! Dear Màrkusha!«
Apparently it was a custom of the house to greet him with such exclamations, for even the fat drunken woman murmured lazily, »Màrkusha!«
They drank and clinked glasses, all talking at once about affairs of their own. The evil-looking woman with the bird-like face was irritably and noisily telling of a guest who took her for a time ... and then something had happened. There was much interchange of gutterswords and phrases, pronounced not with the indifference of men, but with a peculiar asperity, even acidity; and every object was called by its proper name.
At first they paid little heed to him, and he maintained an obstinate silence, merely looking on. Liuba, full of her happiness, sat quietly beside him on the bed, one arm about his neck, herself drinking little, but constantly plying him, and from time to time whispering in his ear, »Darling!«