And hurriedly pressing my hand, Fustov set off towards
Yar’s hotel.
Next day I missed seeing Fustov; and on the day after
that, on going to his rooms, I learned that he had
gone into the country to his uncle’s, near Moscow.
I inquired if he had left no note for me, but no note
was forth-coming. Then I asked the servant whether
he knew how long Alexander Daviditch would be away
in the country. ’A fortnight, or a little
more, probably,’ replied the man. I took
at any rate Fustov’s exact address, and sauntered
home, meditating deeply. This unexpected absence
from Moscow, in the winter, completed my utter perplexity.
My good aunt observed to me at dinner that I seemed
continually expecting something, and gazed at the
cabbage pie as though I were beholding it for the
first time in my life. ‘Pierre, vous n’etes
pas amoureux?’ she cried at last, having previously
got rid of her companions. But I reassured her:
no, I was not in love.
Three days passed. I had a secret prompting to
go to the Ratschs’. I fancied that in their
house I should be sure to find a solution of all that
absorbed my mind, that I could not make out....
But I should have had to meet the veteran....
That thought pulled me up. One tempestuous evening—the
February wind was howling angrily outside, the frozen
snow tapped at the window from time to time like coarse
sand flung by a mighty hand—I was sitting
in my room, trying to read. My servant came,
and, with a mysterious air, announced that a lady wished
to see me. I was surprised... ladies did not
visit me, especially at such a late hour; however,
I told him to show her in. The door opened and
with swift step there walked in a woman, muffled up
in a light summer cloak and a yellow shawl. Abruptly
she cast off the cloak and the shawl, which were covered
with snow, and I saw standing before me Susanna.
I was so astonished that I did not utter a word, while
she went up to the window, and leaning her shoulder
against the wall, remained motionless; only her bosom
heaved convulsively and her eyes moved restlessly,
and the breath came with a faint moan from her white
lips. I realised that it was no slight trouble
that had brought her to me; I realised, for all my
youth and shallowness, that at that instant before
my eyes the fate of a whole life was being decided—a
bitter and terrible fate.
‘Susanna Ivanovna,’ I began, ‘how...’
She suddenly clutched my hand in her icy fingers,
but her voice failed her. She gave a broken sigh
and looked down. Her heavy coils of black hair
fell about her face.... The snow had not melted
from off it.
‘Please, calm yourself, sit down,’ I began
again, ’see here, on the sofa. What has
happened? Sit down, I entreat you.’
‘No,’ she articulated, scarcely audibly,
and she sank on to the window-seat. ’I
am all right here.... Let me be.... You could
not expect... but if you knew... if I could... if...’
