‘Et de deux!’ was Darya Mihailovna’s
comment. ’You are a terrible man at hitting
people off. One can hide nothing from you.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Rudin. . . .
‘However,’ he continued, ’I ought
not really to speak about Lezhnyov; I loved him, loved
him as a friend . . . but afterwards, through various
misunderstandings . . .’
‘You quarrelled?’
‘No. But we parted, and parted, it seems,
for ever.’
’Ah, I noticed that the whole time of his visit
you were not quite yourself. . . . But I am much
indebted to you for this morning. I have spent
my time extremely pleasantly. But one must know
where to stop. I will let you go till lunch time
and I will go and look after my business. My
secretary, you saw him—Constantin, c’est
lui qui est mon secretaire—must be
waiting for me by now. I commend him to you;
he is an excellent, obliging young man, and quite enthusiastic
about you. Au revoir, cher Dmitri Nikolaitch!
How grateful I am to the baron for having made me
acquainted with you!’
And Darya Mihailovna held out her hand to Rudin.
He first pressed it, then raised it to his lips and
went away to the drawing-room and from there to the
terrace. On the terrace he met Natalya.
Darya Mihailovna’s daughter, Natalya Alexyevna,
at a first glance might fail to please. She had
not yet had time to develop; she was thin, and dark,
and stooped slightly. But her features were fine
and regular, though too large for a girl of seventeen.
Specially beautiful was her pure, smooth forehead
above fine eyebrows, which seemed broken in the middle.
She spoke little, but listened to others, and fixed
her eyes on them as though she were forming her own
conclusions. She would often stand with listless
hands, motionless and deep in thought; her face at
such moments showed that her mind was at work within.
. . . A scarcely perceptible smile would suddenly
appear on her lips and vanish again; then she would
slowly raise her large dark eyes. ‘Qu’a-vez-vous?’
Mlle, Boncourt would ask her, and then she would begin
to scold her, saying that it was improper for a young
girl to be absorbed and to appear absent-minded.
But Natalya was not absent-minded; on the contrary,
she studied diligently; she read and worked eagerly.
Her feelings were strong and deep, but reserved; even
as a child she seldom cried, and now she seldom even
sighed and only grew slightly pale when anything distressed
her. Her mother considered her a sensible, good
sort of girl, calling her in a joke ’mon honnete
homme de fille’ but had not a very high opinion
of her intellectual abilities. ‘My Natalya
happily is cold,’ she used to say, ’not
like me—and it is better so. She will
be happy.’ Darya Mihailovna was mistaken.
But few mothers understand their daughters.
Natalya loved Darya Mihailovna, but did not fully
confide in her.
