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“No, Alexei Ivanovich, you get yourself dressed up now,” he fussed joyfully around Velchaninov, who was getting dressed, “nicely, the way you know how.”
“Strange man,” Velchaninov thought to himself, “why is he letting himself in for it?”
“And this is not the only favor I expect from you, Alexei Ivanovich, sir. Since you’ve given your consent, also be my guide, sir.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that there’s a big question, sir: about the crape, sir? What’s more appropriate: to take it off, or to keep the crape?”
“As you like.”
“No, I want your decision—that is, if you were wearing crape, sir? My own thought was that if I keep it, it will point to a constancy of feelings, sir, and so will be a flattering recommendation.”
“Take it off, naturally.”
“Naturally, you say?” Pavel Pavlovich pondered. “No, I’d rather keep it, sir…”
“As you like.”—“Anyhow he doesn’t trust me, that’s good,” thought Velchaninov.
They went out; Pavel Pavlovich contemplated the dressed-up Velchaninov with satisfaction; it even seemed as if more respect and importance showed in his face. Velchaninov marveled at him and still more at himself. By the gate an excellent carriage stood waiting for them.
“And you’ve got a carriage all ready? So you were sure I’d go?”
“I hired the carriage for myself, sir, but I was almost certain you’d agree to go,” Pavel Pavlovich responded with the look of a perfectly happy man.
“Eh, Pavel Pavlovich,” Velchaninov laughed somehow vexedly when they were already settled and starting out, “aren’t you a bit too sure of me?”
“But it’s not for you, Alexei Ivanovich, it’s not for you to tell me I’m a fool on account of that?” Pavel Pavlovich replied in a firm and soulful voice.
“And Liza?” thought Velchaninov, and at once dropped the thought, as if fearing some blasphemy. And suddenly he seemed so paltry to himself, so insignificant at that moment; the thought that was tempting him seemed such a small, such a nasty little thought… and he wanted at all costs to drop everything again and get out of the carriage right then, even if he had to beat Pavel Pavlovich because of it. But the man started to speak and the temptation again gripped his heart.
“Alexei Ivanovich, do you know how to judge precious stones, sir?”
“What precious stones?”
“Diamonds, sir.”
“I do.”
“I’d like to bring a little present. Guide me: should I do it, or not?”
“In my opinion, you shouldn’t.”
“But I’d very much like to, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich squirmed, “only what should I buy, sir? A whole set—that is, brooch, earrings, and bracelet—or just one thing?”
“How much do you want to spend?”
“Oh, some four or five hundred roubles, sir.”
“Oof!”
“Is it too much?” Pavel Pavlovich roused himself.
“Buy just a bracelet, for a hundred roubles.”
Pavel Pavlovich was even upset. He wanted terribly to spend more and buy the “whole” set. He insisted. They stopped at a store. It ended, however, with their buying only a bracelet, and not the one Pavel Pavlovich wanted, but one pointed out by Velchaninov. Pavel Pavlovich wanted to take both. When the shopkeeper, after asking a hundred and seventy-five roubles for the bracelet, went down to a hundred and fifty—he was even vexed; it would have been a pleasure for him to spend two hundred, had he been asked to, so much did he want to spend more.
“Never mind my being in such a hurry with presents,” he poured himself out in rapture as they drove on, “it’s not high society, it’s simple there, sir. I
“As you like.”
“I will!” He took off his hat, tore the crape from it, and threw it out on the road. Velchaninov saw the brightest hope shi
“But can he in fact be like this?” he thought, now genuinely angry. “Can it be that there’s no trick in his inviting me? Can he in fact be counting on my nobility?” he went on, almost offended by the last supposition. “What is he, a buffoon, a fool, or an ‘eternal husband’? But this is impossible, finally!…”
XII
AT THE ZAKHLEBININS’
The Zakhlebinins were actually a “very respectable family,” as Velchaninov had put it earlier, and Zakhlebinin himself was quite a solid official and a visible one. Everything that Pavel Pavlovich had said about their income was also true: “They live well, it seems, but if the man were to die, there would be nothing left.”
Old Zakhlebinin met Velchaninov splendidly and amicably, and from a former “enemy” turned entirely into a friend.
“My congratulations, it’s better this way,” he began speaking with a pleasant and dignified air. “I myself insisted on a peaceful settlement, and Pyotr Karlovich” (Velchaninov’s lawyer) “is pure gold in that regard. So then? You’ll get about sixty thousand and without any fuss, without temporizing, without quarrels. Otherwise the case might have dragged on for three years!”
Velchaninov was introduced at once to Mme. Zakhlebinin, a rather spread-out old lady, with a simplish and tired face. The girls also began sailing out, singly or in pairs. But far too many girls appeared; gradually some ten or twelve of them assembled—Velchaninov even lost count; some came in, others left. But among them were many friends from neighboring houses. The Zakhlebinins’ country place—a big wooden house, in some unknown but fanciful taste, added on to at various times—enjoyed the use of a big garden. But three or four other houses gave onto this garden from different sides, so that this big garden served as a common one, which naturally contributed to the closeness between the girls and their summer neighbors. From the first words of the conversation, Velchaninov noticed that he had been expected there and that his arrival in the quality of Pavel Pavlovich’s friend, wishing to become acquainted, had been all but solemnly a