I am very glad; I love enemies, though not in the Christian sense. They amuse me, stir my blood. To be always on one’s guard, to catch every glance, the meaning of every word, to guess intentions, to crush conspiracies, to pretend to be deceived and suddenly with one blow to overthrow the whole immense and laboriously constructed edifice of cunning and design—that is what I call life.
During supper Grushnitski kept whispering and exchanging winks with the captain of dragoons.
CHAPTER XI. 14th June.
VERA and her husband left this morning for Kislovodsk. I met their carriage as I was walking to Princess Ligovski’s. Vera nodded to me: reproach was in her glance.
Who is to blame, then? Why will she not give me an opportunity of seeing her alone? Love is like fire—if not fed it dies out. Perchance, jealousy will accomplish what my entreaties have failed to do.
I stayed a whole hour at Princess Ligovski’s. Mary has not been out, she is ill. In the evening she was not on the boulevard. The newly formed gang, armed with lorgnettes, has in very fact assumed a menacing aspect. I am glad that Princess Mary is ill; they might be guilty of some impertinence towards her. Grushnitski goes about with dishevelled locks, and wears an appearance of despair: he is evidently afflicted, as a matter of fact; his vanity especially has been injured. But, you see, there are some people in whom even despair is diverting!...
On my way home I noticed that something was lacking. I have not seen her! She is ill! Surely I have not fallen in love with her in real earnest?... What nonsense!