Chapter 6 six

I spent the entire evening and morning of that day in a state of depressive torpor.I remember that I was going to study hard, and I began to read Kaidanov's textbook, and every page and every line of this famous textbook just flashed before my eyes in vain, "Caesar ① before Famous for being brave in battle" I read ten times in a row, but I couldn't understand the meaning of this sentence at all, so I put the book down.Before dinner, I oiled my hair again and put on my frock coat and tie. "Why is that?" asked the mother. "You're not a college student yet, God knows, can you pass the exam? Didn't you already have a jacket made for you? Don't throw it away."

"We've got guests," I muttered almost in disappointment. "What nonsense! What kind of guests are these!" I had to obey.So he took off his frock coat and put on a jacket without taking off his tie.Half an hour before lunch the Duchess arrived with her daughter; the old lady had put on a yellow shawl over the green dress I had seen, and an old-fashioned hat with a fiery red ribbon.She was at once talking about her promissory notes, and moaning, complaining about her poverty, and "pleading," but she was not at all ashamed: she was still sniffing her snuffbox loudly, informally, as casually as ever. He tossed and turned in the chair, restless.She didn't seem to think of herself as a duchess.But Zinaïda's demeanor was grave, almost haughty, exactly like a princess.She had a cold, dignified look on her face—I didn't know her anymore, and I found her eyes, her smile very strange, although she appeared in a new posture, she still seemed very charming to me.She wore a sheer tulle dress with pale blue patterns; her hair was combed in long English locks and fell down her cheeks: a style similar to hers. That icy expression was quite fitting.My father sat next to her at meals, and entertained his neighbors with all his characteristic magnanimity, calmness, and politeness.He looked at her now and then—and she looked at him now and then, but in such a strange, almost hostile way.They were talking in French; I remember Zinaïda's natural pronunciation astonishing me.The Duchess remained unrestrained during the meal, eating and drinking, and praised the deliciousness of the dishes.The mother, obviously bored with her, treated her with a sullen and contemptuous manner; the father sometimes frowned a little.Mother did not like Zinaida either.

"What an arrogant woman," she said the next day. "Please think about— She has nothing to be proud of—avecsamine degrisette. ①" "You probably haven't seen Griese," her father said to her. "Thank goodness for that!" "Of course, thank God...but how can you judge them?" Zinaïda paid no attention to me at all.The Duchess took her leave shortly after the meal. "I hope to have a great deal of help from you, Maria Nikolaevna and Peter Vasilievich," she drawled to my parents. "What can I do! There were good times, but they are over. Although I am a duchess," she added with an unhappy laugh, "what's the use of a dukedom if there's nothing to eat!"

Her father saluted her respectfully and sent her to the door of the front room.I stood there in my too-short blouse, staring at the floor like a prisoner on death row.Zinaïda ignored me, much to my dismay.But to my astonishment, when she passed me, with the old kindness in her eyes, she whispered to me hastily: "Please come to our place at eight o'clock, do you hear, you must..." I just spread my hands, and she put a white kerchief on her head and left.