‘While he was abroad,’ he continued, ’Rudin
wrote very rarely to his mother, and paid her altogether
only one visit for ten days. . . . The old lady
died without him, cared for by strangers; but up to
her death she never took her eyes off his portrait.
I went to see her when I was staying in T——.
She was a kind and hospitable woman; she always used
to feast me on cherry jam. She loved her Mitya
devotedly. People of the Petchorin type tell
us that we always love those who are least capable
of feeling love themselves; but it’s my idea
that all mothers love their children especially when
they are absent. Afterwards I met Rudin abroad.
Then he was connected with a lady, one of our countrywomen,
a bluestocking, no longer young, and plain, as a bluestocking
is bound to be. He lived a good while with her,
and at last threw her over—or no, I beg
pardon,—she threw him over. It was
then that I too threw him over. That’s all.’
Lezhnyov ceased speaking, passed his hand over his
brow, and dropped into a chair as if he were exhausted.
‘Do you know, Mihailo Mihailitch,’ began
Alexandra Pavlovna, ’you are a spiteful person,
I see; indeed you are no better than Pigasov.
I am convinced that all you have told me is true,
that you have not made up anything, and yet in what
an unfavourable light you have put it all! The
poor old mother, her devotion, her solitary death,
and that lady—What does it all amount to?
You know that it’s easy to put the life of the
best of men in such colours—and without
adding anything, observe—that every one
would be shocked! But that too is slander of
a kind!’
Lezhnyov got up and again walked about the room.
‘I did not want to shock you at all, Alexandra
Pavlovna,’ he brought out at last, ‘I
am not given to slander. However,’ he added,
after a moment’s thought, ’in reality
there is a foundation of fact in what you said.
I did not mean to slander Rudin; but—who
knows! very likely he has had time to change since
those days—very possibly I am unjust to
him.’
’Ah! you see. So promise me that you will
renew your acquaintance with him, and will get to
know him thoroughly and then report your final opinion
of him to me.’
‘As you please. But why are you so quiet,
Sergei Pavlitch?’
Volintsev started and raised his head, as though he
had just waked up.
‘What can I say? I don’t know him.
Besides, my head aches to-day.’
‘Yes, you look rather pale this evening,’
remarked Alexandra Pavlovna; ‘are you unwell?’
‘My head aches,’ repeated Volintsev, and
he went away.
Alexandra Pavlovna and Lezhnyov looked after him,
and exchanged glances, though they said nothing.
What was passing in Volintsev’s heart was no
mystery to either of them.
