‘Yasha!’ I cried; ‘nonsense! you
are going to live....’
‘No, no! I am dying.... Here, take
this as a keepsake.’ ... (He pointed to his
breast.) ...
‘What’s this?’ he began suddenly;
’look: the sea ... all golden, and blue
isles upon it, marble temples, palm-trees, incense....’
He ceased speaking ... stretched....
Within half an hour he was no more. Elisei flung
himself weeping at his feet. I closed his eyes.
On his neck there was a little silken amulet on a
black cord. I took it.
Three days afterwards he was buried.... One of
the noblest hearts was hidden for ever in the grave.
I myself threw the first handful of earth upon him.
Another year and a half passed by. Business obliged
me to visit Moscow. I took up my quarters in
one of the good hotels there. One day, as I was
passing along the corridor, I glanced at the black-board
with the list of visitors staying in the hotel, and
almost cried out aloud with astonishment. Opposite
the number 12 stood, distinctly written in chalk,
the name, Sophia Nikolaevna Asanova. Of late I
had chanced to hear a good deal that was bad about
her husband. I had learned that he was addicted
to drink and to gambling, had ruined himself, and was
generally misconducting himself. His wife was
spoken of with respect.... In some excitement
I went back to my room. The passion, that had
long long ago grown cold, began as it were to stir
within my heart, and it throbbed. I resolved
to go and see Sophia Nikolaevna. ‘Such
a long time has passed since the day we parted,’
I thought, ’she has, most likely, forgotten
everything there was between us in those days.’
I sent Elisei, whom I had taken into my service after
the death of Pasinkov, with my visiting-card to her
door, and told him to inquire whether she was at home,
and whether I might see her. Elisei quickly came
back and announced that Sophia Nikolaevna was at home
and would see me.
I went at once to Sophia Nikolaevna. When I went
in, she was standing in the middle of the room, taking
leave of a tall stout gentleman.
‘As you like,’ he was saying in a rich,
mellow voice; ’he is not a harmless person,
he’s a useless person; and every useless person
in a well-ordered society is harmful, harmful, harmful!’
With those words the tall gentleman went out.
Sophia Nikolaevna turned to me.
‘How long it is since we met!’ she said.
‘Sit down, please....’
We sat down. I looked at her.... To see
again after long absence the features of a face once
dear, perhaps beloved, to recognise them, and not
recognise them, as though across the old, unforgotten
countenance a new one, like, but strange, were looking
out at one; instantaneously, almost unconsciously,
to note the traces time has laid upon it;—all
this is rather melancholy. ‘I too must have
changed in the same way,’ each is inwardly thinking....
