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Once I chanced to look at the clock; it was half-past ten. I began saying good-bye. "'Have another glass before your walk, said Kisotchka. "I took another glass, again I began talking at length, forgot it was time to go, and sat down. Then there came the sound of men's voices, footsteps and the clank of spurs. "'I think my husband has come in . . . . said Kisotchka listening.
At first she flushed red, then her face wore a timid, guilty expression; she seemed to be troubled by some anxiety, and I began to fancy that she was ashamed to show me her husband and wanted me to go. "I began taking leave. Kisotchka saw me to the front door.
"We reached the house where Kisotchka's mother lived. I pulled at the bell. When footsteps were heard at the other side of the door Kisotchka suddenly looked grave, glanced upwards to the sky, made the sign of the Cross over me several times and, clutching my hand, pressed it to her lips. "'Till to-morrow, she said, and disappeared into the house.
Along the avenues there walked now not my comrades and I and the object of my adoration, but schoolboys and young ladies who were strangers. And I felt melancholy. When to my inquiries about acquaintances I five times received from Kisotchka the answer, 'He is dead, my melancholy changed into the feeling one has at the funeral service of a good man.
So as not to frighten her I first gave a loud sigh and coughed, then cautiously struck a match. . . . There was a flash of bright light in the darkness, which lighted up the weeping figure. It was Kisotchka!" "Marvels upon marvels!" said Von Schtenberg with a sigh.
He had a strange surname, something in the style of Populaki or Skarandopulo. . . . Goodness only knows I have forgotten. . . . As a matter of fact, Kisotchka spoke little and with reluctance about herself. The conversation was only about me.
We passed the mill and the hut, turned to the left and reached the gates of the cemetery. There Kisotchka stopped and said: "'I am going back, Nikolay Anastasyitch! You go home, and God bless you, but I am going back. I am not frightened. "'Well, what next! I said, disconcerted. 'If you are going, you had better go! "'I have been too hasty. . . . It was all about nothing that mattered.
I pictured to myself the old Kisotchka whom one used to want to stroke like a cat, I looked intently at the present Kisotchka, and for some reason recalled her words: 'Everyone ought to bear the lot that fate has laid on him. And I had a pang at my heart.
"Not far from the cemetery we found a cab. When we reached the High Street, where Kisotchka's mother lived, we dismissed the cab and walked along the pavement. Kisotchka was silent all the while, while I looked at her, and I raged at myself, 'Why don't you begin? Now's the time! About twenty paces from the hotel where I was staying, Kisotchka stopped by the lamp-post and burst into tears.
And sitting there at the window, looking at the promenading public and listening to the tinkling piano, I saw with my own eyes for the first time in my life with what eagerness one generation hastens to replace another, and what a momentous significance even some seven or eight years may have in a man's life! "Kisotchka put a bottle of red wine on the table.
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