Aratov made no reply, and went away, having provided
himself with the Kazan address.
When he was on his way to Kupfer’s, excitement,
bewilderment, expectation had been reflected on his
face.... Now he walked with an even gait, with
downcast eyes, and hat pulled over his brows; almost
every one who met him sent a glance of curiosity after
him ... but he did not observe any one who passed
... it was not as on the Tversky boulevard!
‘Unhappy Clara! poor frantic Clara!’ was
echoing in his soul.
The following day Aratov spent, however, fairly quietly.
He was even able to give his mind to his ordinary
occupations. But there was one thing: both
during his work and during his leisure he was continually
thinking of Clara, of what Kupfer had told him the
evening before. It is true that his meditations,
too, were of a fairly tranquil character. He fancied
that this strange girl interested him from the psychological
point of view, as something of the nature of a riddle,
the solution of which was worth racking his brains
over. ’Ran away with an actress living as
a kept mistress,’ he pondered, ’put herself
under the protection of that princess, with whom she
seems to have lived—and no love affairs’?
It’s incredible!... Kupfer talked of pride!
But in the first place we know’ (Aratov ought
to have said: we have read in books),...’we
know that pride can exist side by side with levity
of conduct; and secondly, how came she, if she were
so proud, to make an appointment with a man who might
treat her with contempt ... and did treat her with
it ... and in a public place, moreover ... in a boulevard!’
At this point Aratov recalled all the scene in the
boulevard, and he asked himself, Had he really shown
contempt for Clara? ‘No,’ he decided,...
’it was another feeling ... a feeling of doubt
... lack of confidence, in fact!’ ‘Unhappy
Clara!’ was again ringing in his head.
‘Yes, unhappy,’ he decided again....
’That’s the most fitting word. And,
if so, I was unjust. She said truly that I did
not understand her. A pity! Such a remarkable
creature, perhaps, came so close ... and I did not
take advantage of it, I repulsed her.... Well,
no matter! Life’s all before me. There
will be, very likely, other meetings, perhaps more
interesting!
‘But on what grounds did she fix on me
of all the world?’ He glanced into a looking-glass
by which he was passing. ’What is there
special about me? I’m not a beauty, am
I? My face ... is like any face.... She was
not a beauty either, though.
