Страница 91 из 93
Murin bowed down from the waist. Tears came into Yaroslav Ilyitch's delighted eyes. He looked with enthusiasm at Ord5mov.
"What a generous trait, isn't it! What sacred hospitality is to be found in the Russian people."
Ordynov looked wildly at Yaroslav Ilydtch.
He was almost terrified and scrutinised him from head to foot.
"Yes, indeed, sir, we do honour hospitality; we do honour it indeed, sir," Murin asserted, covering his beard with his whole sleeve. "Yes, indeed, the thought just came to me; we'd have welcomed you as a guest, sir, hy God! we would," he went on, approaching Ordjmov; "and I had nothing against it; another day I would have said nothing, nothing at all; but sin is a sore snare and my mistress is ill. Ah, if it were not for the mistress 1 Here, if I had been alone, for instance; how glad I would have been of your honour, how I would have waited upon you, wouldn't I have waited upon you! Whom should we respect if not your honour? I'd have healed you of your sickness, I know tiie art. . . . You should have been our guest, upon my word you should, that is a great word with us! . . ."
"Yes, really; is there such an art?" observed Yaroslav Ilyitch . . . and broke off.
Ordynov had done Yaroslav Il5ntch injustice when, just before, he had looked him up and down witii wild amazement.
He was, of course, a very honest and honourable person, but now he understood everything and it must be owned his position was a very difficult one. He wanted to explode, as it is called, with laughter! If he had been alone with Ordynov— two sudi friends—Yaroslav Ilyitch would, of course, have given way to an immoderate outburst of gaiety without attempting to control himself. He would, however, have done this in a gentlemanly way. He would after laughing have pressed Ordynov's hand with feeling, would genuinely and justly have assured him that he felt double respect for him and
that he could make allowances in every case . . . and, of course, would have made no reference to his youth. But as it was, with his habitual delicacy of feeling, he was in a most difficult position and scarcely knew what to do with himself. . . .
"Arts, that is decoctions," Murin added. A quiver passed over his face at Yaroslav Ilyitch's tactless exclamation. "What I should say, sir, in my peasant foolishness," he went on, taking einother step forward, "you've read too many books, sir; as the Russian saying is among us peasants, 'Wit has overstepped wisdom.'. . ."
"Enough," said Yaroslav Ilyitch sternly.
"I am going," sdd Ord3mov. "I thank you, Yaroslav Ilyitch. I will come, I will certainly come and see you," he Sciid in answer to the redoubled ci-^olities of Yaroslav Ilyitch, who was unable to detain him further. "Good-bye, good-bye."
"Good-bye, your honour, good-bye, sir; do not forget us, visit us, poor si
Ordynov heard nothing more—he went out like one distraught. He could bear no more, he felt shattered, his mind was numb, he dimly felt that he was overcome by illness, but cold despair reigned in his soul, and he was only conscious of a vague pain crushing, wearing, gnawing at his breast; he longed to die at that minute. His legs were giving way under him and he sat down by the fence, taking no notice of the passing people, nor of the crowd that began to collect around him, nor of the questions, nor the exclamations of the curious. But, suddenly, in the multitude of voices, he heard the voice of Murin above him. Ordynov raised his head. The old man really was standing before him, his pale face was thoughtful and dignified, he was quite a different man from the one who had played the coarse farce at Yaroslav Ilyitch's. Ordynov got up. Murin took his arm and led him out of the crowd. "You want to get your belongings," he said, looking sideways at Ordjmov. "Don't grieve, sir," cried Murin. "You are young, why grieve? . . ."
Ordynov made no reply.
"Are you offended, sir? ... To be sure you are very angry now . . . but you have no cause; every man guards his own goods!"
"I don't know you," said Ordynov; "I don't want to know your secrets. But she, she! . . ." he brought out, and the tears rushed in streams from his eyes. The wind blew them one
after another from his cheeks . . . Ordynov wiped them with his hand; his gesture, his eyes, the involuntary movement of his blue lips all looked like madness.
"I've told you already," said Murin, knitting his brows, "that she is crazy! What crazed her? . . . Why need you know? But to me, even so, she is dearl I've loved her more than my life and I'll give her up to no one. Dp you understand now?"
There was a momentary gleam of fire in Ordynov's eyes.
"But why have I . . . ? Why have I as good as lost my life? Why does my heart ache? Why did I know Katerina?"
"Why?" Murin laughed and pondered. "Why, I don't know why," he brought out at last. "A woman's heart is not as deep as the sea; you can get to know it, but it is cu
They went into the yard. The Tatar saw Murin from a distance, took off his cap to him and stared slyly at Ordynov.
"Where's your mother? At home?" Murin shouted to him.
"Yes."
"Tell her to help him move his things, and you get away, run along I"
They went up the stairs. The old servant, who appeared to be reaUy the porter's mother, was getting together their lodger's belongings and peevishly putting them in a big bundle.
"Wait a minute; I'll bring you something else of yours; it's left in there. ..."
Murin went into his room. A minute later he came back and gave Ordjmov a sumptuous cushion, covered with embroidery in silks and braid, the one that Katerina had put imder his head when he was ill.
, "She sends you this," said Murin. "And now go for good and good luck to you; and mind now, don't hang about," he added in a fatherly tone, dropping his voice, "or harm will come of it."