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Bersenyev noticed that among all his pranks, and jests and gaiety, Shubin was constantly, as it were, examining Insarov; he was sounding him and was in inward excitement, but Insarov remained as before, calm and straightforward. At last they returned home, changed their dress, and resolved to finish the day as they had begun it, by going that evening to the Stahovs.
'The crisis is a long way off still, he said, putting on his hat. 'And after the crisis? asked Bersenyev. 'The crisis may end in two ways, aut Caesar aut nihil. The doctor went away. Bersenyev walked a few times up and down the street; he felt in need of fresh air. He went back and took up a book again. Raumer he had finished long ago; he was now making a study of Grote.
Elena, all in tears, had already taken her seat in the sledge; Insarov had carefully wrapped her feet up in a rug; Shubin, Bersenyev, the landlord, his wife, the little daughter, with the inevitable kerchief on her head, the doorkeeper, a workman in a striped bedgown, were all standing on the steps, when suddenly a splendid sledge, harnessed with spirited horses, flew into the courtyard, and from the sledge, shaking the snow off the collar of his cloak, leapt Nikolai Artemyevitch.
He returned three hours later; and in response to Bersenyev's invitation to share his repast, he said that he would not refuse to dine with him that day, but that he had already spoken to the woman of the house, and would get her to send him up his meals for the future. 'Upon my word! said Bersenyev, 'you will fare very badly; that old body can't cook a bit.
'Let me in, Pavel; don't be sulky; aren't you ashamed of yourself? 'I am not sulky; I'm asleep and dreaming about Zoya. 'Do stop that, please; you're not a baby. Let me in. I want to talk to you. 'Haven't you had talk enough with Elena? 'Come, come; let me in! Shubin responded by a pretended snore. Bersenyev shrugged his shoulders and turned homewards.
It must end by my always laughing, playing the fool, turning things into ridicule as she says, and then setting to and strangling myself. 'Stuff, you won't strangle yourself, observed Bersenyev. 'On such a night, of course not; but only let me live on till the autumn. On such a night people do die too, but only of happiness. Ah, happiness!
'To give you an idea of the subject of the work in few words, Elena Nikolaevna, would be somewhat difficult. My father was a learned man, a Schellingist; he used terms which were not always very clear 'Andrei Petrovitch, interrupted Elena, 'excuse my ignorance, what does that mean, a Schellingist? Bersenyev smiled slightly.
The tailor met the 'kind gentlemen' with a bow; he, presumably, to drown his grief, but possibly to celebrate his delight at getting the furniture, had been drinking heavily; his wife soon led him away. In the room everything was by this time ready; a trunk, tied up with cord, stood on the floor. Bersenyev sank into thought: many memories came rushing upon him.
From the ballads Bersenyev passed on to the present position of Bulgaria, and then for the first time he noticed what a change came over Insarov at the mere mention of his country: not that his face flushed nor his voice grew louder no! but at once a sense of force and intense onward striving was expressed in his whole personality, the lines of his mouth grew harder and less flexible, and a dull persistent fire glowed in the depths of his eyes.
First Shubin exploded, shrieking as if he were mad, Bersenyev followed with his gurgling guffaw, then Zoya fell into thin tinkling little trills, Anna Vassilyevna too suddenly broke down, Elena could not help smiling, and even Insarov at last could not resist it. But the loudest, longest, most persistent laugh was Uvar Ivanovitch's; he laughed till his sides ached, till he choked and panted.
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