V
Bezsonow, holding a glass of wine in his hand, raising a pair of excited and very red eyes, saw me, and his face clearly expressed his dissatisfaction.
He got up from his place and came to us.
“You here? What has brought you here?”
“We came to look at you,” I replied, smiling; “and I am not sorry, because, because—”
He caught my glance as it ran over his friend, and he abruptly interrupted me.
“Do not hope for this. … Helfreich has told you this. … But nothing will come of it. I will not allow it. I shall take her away. …” And, briskly going up to her, he said loudly:
“Nadejda Nicolaievna, let us go.”
She turned her head, and I saw for the first time her astonished face.
Yes, I saw her for the first time in this haunt. She was sitting here with this man who sometimes descended from his life of egoism and arrogant self-conceit to this debauchery. She was sitting behind an empty bottle. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, her pale face was worn, her dress was untidy and loud. Around us pressed a crowd of holidaymakers—merchants despairing of the possibility of living without drinking, unfortunate shop-men spending their lives behind counters and getting away from their wretched thoughts only in these haunts of fallen women, and girls whose lips had only just touched the horrible cup, a few young milliners’ hands, and shopgirls. … I saw that she was falling into that abyss of which Bezsonow had spoken to me, if, indeed, she had not already fallen.
“Come along, come along, Nadejda Nicolaievna! Let us go,” exclaimed Bezsonow impatiently.
She rose, and looking at him with surprise, asked:
“Why? Where?”
“I don’t want to stop here. …”
“Well, then, you can go. … This, I think, is your friend and Helfreich.”
“Did you hear what I said? Listen, Nadia …” said Bezsonow roughly.
She knitted her brows and threw a look of hate at him.
“Who gave you the right to talk to me like this? Senichka, old boy, how are you?”
Simon took her hand and gave it a hearty squeeze.
“Look here, Bezsonow,” said he; “stop fooling. Go home if you want, or stay here; but Nadejda Nicolaievna will stay here with us. We have some business with her, and it is very important business. Nadejda Nicolaievna, allow me to introduce my friend, and his friend also,” pointing to the frowning Bezsonow, “and an artist.”
“How she loves pictures, Andrei!” suddenly said he to me in raptures. “Last year I took her to the Exhibition, and we saw your studies. Do you remember?”
“Remember?” she answered.
“Nadejda Nicolaievna!” said Bezsonow once again.
“Leave me alone. … Go where you like. I am going to stay here with Senia and this Mr. … Lopatin. I want to have a rest … from you …” she suddenly exclaimed, seeing that Bezsonow was going to say something more.
“I am sick of you. Leave me alone. Clear out! …”
He turned abruptly, and went off without saying a word to any of us.
“That’s better. … Now he has gone …” said Nadejda Nicolaievna, giving a deep sigh.
“Why do you sigh, Nadejda Nicolaievna?” asked Senichka.
“Why? Because what is allowable for all these cripples”—with a movement of her head she indicated the crowd which surged around us—“is not allowable for him. … Well, never mind; it is sickening and boring. No, not boring; it’s worse. There is no word for it. Senichka, treat me with something to drink.”
Simon looked at me plaintively.
“You see, Nadejda Nicolaievna, I should be glad to, but I cannot; he …”
“What about him? He can drink with us.”
“He will not stay.”
“Well, then, you.”
“He will not let me.”
“That’s bad. … Who can stop you?”
“I have given my word that I will obey him.”
Nadejda Nicolaievna looked at me closely.
“That’s it, is it?” she said. “Well, do as you like. If you don’t want to, you needn’t. I will drink by myself. …”
“Nadejda Nicolaievna,” I began, “forgive me that at our first meeting …”
I felt the crimson rush to my cheeks. She smiled and looked at me.
“Well, what?”
“That at our first meeting I ask you … not to do this, not to behave like this. … I wanted to ask you yet another favour.”
Her face took a mournful expression.
“Not to behave like this?” said she. “I am afraid that I cannot behave in any other way. I have lost the habit. Well, all right; so as to please you I will try. And the favour?”
With a lot of stuttering and mixing up of my words I confusedly explained to her the matter. She listened attentively, fixing her grey eyes straight on me. Either the strained attention with which she listened to my words or something else gave her glance a stern and almost cruel expression.
“All right,” she said at length. “I understand what you want. I will make my face like that.”
“That will not be necessary, Nadejda Nicolaievna; only your face. …”
“All right, all right. When shall I come?”
“Tomorrow at eleven o’clock, if possible.”
“So early? Well, that means I must get to bed now. Senichka, will you see me home?”
“Nadejda Nicolaievna,” said I, “we have not arranged about one thing: it cannot be done for nothing.”
“What! you will pay me?” she said; and I felt that there was a ring of wounded pride in her voice.
“Yes, pay; otherwise it is off,” said I decisively.
She threw a scornful, even insolent, glance at me; but almost immediately her face took on a thoughtful expression. We both kept silent. I felt awkward, whilst a faint flush showed on her cheeks, and her eyes glinted.
“All right,” she said; “pay. Give me what other models get. How much shall I get altogether for Charlotte, Senichka?”
“Sixty roubles, I should think,” he replied.
“And how long will it take to paint her?”
“A month.”
“Good, very good!” she exclaimed vivaciously. “I will try to earn your money. Thank you!”
She put out her thin hand and firmly pressed mine.
“He is spending the night with you?” she asked turning to me.
“Yes, yes, with me.”
“I will let him go directly he has seen me home.”
In half an hour’s time I was home, and five minutes later Helfreich returned. We undressed, laid down, and put out the candles. I had already begun to doze.
“Are you asleep, Lopatin?” suddenly sounded Senichka’s voice through the darkness.
“No; why?”
“Because I would straight away give my left hand if only this woman was a good and pure one,” said he in an agitated voice.
“Why not the right hand?” I asked sleepily.
“Duffer! How would I be able to paint then?” he asked me seriously.