Chapter 9 "Anonymous Story" 8

Eight Christmas was deserted, and there was a faint ominous omen.On New Year's Eve morning, over coffee, Orlov unexpectedly announced that his superiors had sent him on a special mission to a privy councilor who was inspecting work in a certain province. "I don't want to go, but I can't think of an excuse!" he said vexedly. "I have to go there, there is no way." Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes blushed at this news. "Will it be long?" she asked. "About five days." "Honestly, I'm glad you went out," she said, after a moment of thought.

"You can relax. You might fall in love with someone along the way, so you might as well tell me about it afterwards." Whenever she had a chance, she tried to make Orlov understand that she would not hinder him at all, and that he could do as he wanted.This ingenious and obvious method can not deceive anyone in the slightest, but once again makes Orlov feel that he is not free. "I'm leaving this evening," he said, beginning to read the paper. Zinaida Fyodorovna was going to take him to the railway station, but he persuaded her that he was not going to America, nor was he going for five years, but only five days in all, and it was impossible to know if it was less than five days. .

After seven o'clock, they said goodbye.He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead and lips. "You stay at home obediently. Don't worry about my absence," he said in a tone of kindness and enthusiasm, which even touched me. "God bless you." She gazed into his face, to impress its kindness upon her memory, and then she threw her arms gracefully about his neck, and rested her head on his breast. "You will forgive me for our misunderstandings," she said in French. "When couples are in love, it's impossible not to quarrel. I love you madly. Don't forget me. . . . Call back often, and write in detail."

Orlov kissed her again, then hurried out without saying a word.When the door was closed and the lock clicked, he stopped hesitantly in the middle of the stairs and looked up.I felt that if there was any noise upstairs at this time, he seemed to be walking back.But it was quiet upstairs.He adjusted his coat and went downstairs hesitantly. The hired sled was already waiting at the gate.Orlov got into one, and I got into the other with two suitcases.It was bitterly cold, and the fire at the crossroads was smoking.The sled was going fast, and the cold wind stung my face and hands and choked my breath.I closed my eyes and thought to myself: What a wonderful woman she is!How much she loved!Nowadays, even the waste products of various people are collected and sold for charity, and broken glass is considered good goods, but the love of such a young, elegant, fairly intelligent and decent woman is so precious and so precious. Rare things are thrown away without any use.An ancient sociologist believed that all kinds of vulgar passions, if they are well channeled, can be turned into useful forces; but here, even when there are noble and beautiful passions, they become impotent afterward. If you can't get the correct guidance, you won't be understood by people, or you will become vulgar and low-level.Why is this?

The sled stopped unexpectedly.I opened my eyes and saw we were parked beside the big house where Pikarsky lived on Sergiyev Street.Orlov got off the sleigh, went through the gate, and disappeared.Five minutes later Pikarski's footman appeared at the door, hatless, angry at the cold, and shouted at me: "Are you deaf or something? Send the coachman away and go upstairs. The master called you!" I didn't understand anything and walked up to the second floor.I had been to this Pikarsky house before, and stood in the vestibule, looking out into the hall.Every time I come in from the dank, gloomy street, the house dazzles me with its polished, polished picture frames, its bronzes, its expensive furniture.Now, in this shining room, I saw Gruzin and Kukushkin, and a moment later Orlov.

"Listen, Stepan," he said, coming up to me. "I stay here until Friday or Saturday. If there are letters and telegrams, they are brought to me here every day. Of course, when you get home, you say I'm gone and tell you to say hello to her.You go back now. " When I got home, Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on a sofa in the living room eating pears.There was only one candle burning here, in a chandelier. "Did you not miss the train?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna. "No, ma'am. Master ordered me to say hello." I went back to the servant's room and lay down too.I have nothing to do and no desire to read.I wasn't surprised or outraged. I just racked my brains and thought to myself: Why bother to engage in such a scam?Only a teenager would cheat on a lover like that.Couldn't a well-read and intelligent person like him think of a smarter way?To be honest, I don't underestimate his intelligence.I think that if he had to deceive a minister or some other powerful person, he would expend a lot of energy and thought on it; but if he wanted to deceive a woman, obviously, he would do whatever he wanted.It's great if the deception succeeds, and it doesn't matter much if it doesn't. You might as well tell a lie as simple and quick as this, without much effort.

At midnight, when those who lived above us greeted the New Year, moving chairs and cheering, Zinaida Fyodorovna rang for me in the room next to the study.Lazy from lying down for a long time, she was sitting at the table writing a note. "I'll have to send a telegram," she said, smiling. "Take a train to the railway station and ask them to send this telegram." Then I went to the street and saw a note saying: "Happy New Year and new happiness. Call back quickly, I'm so lonely. Days are like years. It's a pity that the telegram can't bring you a thousand kisses and my heart." Happy to you, my dear. Zina."

I sent the telegram and handed her the receipt the next morning.