Chapter 10 "Anonymous Stories" 9

Nine The worst thing was that Orlov, without thinking, let Polya know the secret of his deception, and ordered her to send his shirts to Sergiyev Street.Afterwards she looked at Zinaida Fyodorovna with schadenfreude, with hatred I could not understand, always in her own room and in the antechamber, laughing softly with her lips pursed. . "She's lived here so long that she should be interested!" she said cheerfully. "She should understand. . . . " She already had a sensitive premonition that Zinaida Fyodorovna would not be staying with us for long.In order not to miss the opportunity, she took whatever she saw.Perfumes, tortoiseshell hairpins, handkerchiefs, leather shoes, she stole them all.On the second day of the New Year, Zinaida Fyodorovna called me into her room and told me in a low voice that one of her black dresses was missing.Afterwards she walked up and down the rooms, pale, terrified and angry, and said to herself, "How could such a thing come about? Why, how could such a thing come about? It's unheard of, it's outrageous! "

At lunch she tried to ladle herself soup, but couldn't, her hands shook.Her lips trembled too.She stared at the soup and the pie in bewilderment, waiting for her trembling to subside.Suddenly, she couldn't help but glance at Polya. "Polya, you may go away," she said. "It is enough to have Stepan alone." "Never mind, ma'am, I'll stand for a while," replied Polya. "You don't need to stand here. Just go away, . "You can find another job. You go now!" "I can't go without my master's orders. I am hired by him. I will do as he orders."

"I can order you too! I am the mistress of the place!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, flushing. "Perhaps you are mistress, but only a master can dismiss me. I am hired by him." "You mustn't stay here a minute longer!" cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, tapping the plate with her knife. "You are a thief! Do you hear me?" Zinaida Fyodorovna threw her napkin on the table, and with a pitiful and distressed face walked quickly out of the dining-room.Polya burst into tears and murmured, and went out too.The soup and grouse were cold.For some reason, this exquisite dish brought to the table by the restaurant seemed to me to be short and short, like Polya.The two pies on the plate looked very pitiful and guilty. "Today we'll be sending it back to the restaurant," they seemed to say, "but tomorrow it'll be on a civil servant's or a famous actress's lunch table."

"What a fine lady, marvelous!" came Polya's voice from her room to my ears. "If I had the heart, I would have become such a wife long ago, but I still know what shame is! Let's wait and see who will go first! Yes!" Zinaida Fyodorovna rang the bell.She was sitting in a corner of the room, and it seemed from her look that she was being punished for sitting in the corner. "Is there a telegram?" "No, ma'am." "Ask the porter. There may be a telegram. But don't leave the house," she said, turning from behind me. "I'm afraid to be alone."

Afterwards I had to run downstairs almost every hour to the porter and ask him if he had a telegram.What a horrible time it must be admitted!Zinaida Fyodorovna, in order not to see Polya, ate and drank tea in her room, and slept on a short crescent sofa, making the bed herself.In the first days, I often went out to send telegrams, but I never received a reply, so she no longer trusted me, and went out to send telegrams herself.Seeing her like that, I also anxiously hoped that the telegram would arrive soon.I hope he will come up with a way to fake it, for example, by sending a telegram from a railway station in another place.I thought that if he was addicted to playing cards, or was already in love with another woman, then of course either Gruzin or Kukushkin would remind him and make him think of us.But we waited in vain.I used to go to Zinaida Fyodorovna's room four or five times a day, trying to tell her the truth, but she looked like a goat, with her shoulders hanging and her lips quivering, and I said nothing, Exit the door.Compassion and pity took my courage.As for Polya, she seemed to be all right, happy and proud, tidying up the master's study and bedroom, turning things in the cupboard, making the bowls rattle.She would hum a tune or cough when she passed Zinaida Fyodorovna's door.It pleased her to see that her mistress was avoiding her.She often went out at night, her whereabouts were unknown, and she didn't ring the doorbell until two or three o'clock, so I had to open the door for her and listen to her complain about my cough.Immediately afterwards the bell rang again in another place, and I ran to the room next to the study, where Zinaida Fyodorovna put her head out of the door and asked: "Who rang the bell?"

She looked at my hands to see if there was a telegram. Finally, on Saturday, when the doorbell rang downstairs and familiar footsteps came up the stairs, she burst into tears of joy.She ran to meet him, put her arms around him, kissed his chest and sleeves, and said something that no one could understand. The porter brought in the trunk, and Polya's cheerful voice rang out.It was as if someone had come back for vacation! "Why didn't you telegram?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, panting with pleasure. "Why? I have suffered so much to get through this time. . . . Oh, my God!"

"It's very simple! I went to Moscow with the Privy Councilor the day before, so I didn't receive your telegram," said Orlov, "I will tell you in detail after I have eaten Say. Now I have to sleep, sleep, sleep. . . . I'm exhausted on the train." It was obvious that he had been up all night, probably playing cards and drinking a lot.Zinaida Fyodorovna put him to bed and put him to bed, and then, and into the evening, we walked on tiptoe.All was well at lunch, but as soon as they had finished their meal, went into the study, and drank coffee, the conversation began.Zinaida Fyodorovna was speaking quickly in a low voice, she spoke French, and the words flowed like a brook, followed by Orlov's loud sighs and voices. .

"My God!" he said in French. "Have you nothing new to say but bad things about the handmaid?" "But, my dear, she's always stealing from me, and talking against me." "But why didn't she steal from me, didn't she speak against me? Why did I never pay attention to the maid, the sweeper, and the servant? My dear, you are too self-willed, repeating It's impermanent....I even suspect that you are pregnant. Back then I suggested to you that it's fine to get rid of her, but you asked to keep her, and now you're going to ask me to get rid of her. If that's the case, I'm going to be a stickler, too. I'll repay willfulness with willfulness. When you ask her to go, I'll ask her to stay. That's the only cure for your nerves."

"Oh, come on, come on!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna in alarm. "We won't talk about that. . . . To-morrow. Now tell me about Moscow. . . . How is Moscow?"