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Shubin ran on before them to announce their arrival. 'The conquering hero Insarov will be here directly! he shouted triumphantly, going into the Stahovs' drawing-room, where there happened at the instant to be only Elena and Zoya. 'Wer? inquired Zoya in German. When she was taken unawares she always used her native language. Elena drew herself up.
What luckless, God-forsaken wretches we artists are after that! You, for instance, I am ready to adore, and you don't believe in my repentance. 'No, Pavel Yakovlitch, I believe in your repentance and I believe in your tears. But it seems to me that even your repentance amuses you yes and your tears too. Shubin shuddered.
Himself Shubin had modelled as a lean emaciated rake, with sunken cheeks, his thin hair hanging in weak wisps about his face, a meaningless expression in his dim eyes, and his nose sharp and thin as a dead man's. Bersenyev turned away with disgust. 'A nice pair, aren't they, my dear fellow? said Shubin; 'won't you graciously compose a suitable title?
And breaking up the bust of Zoya, Shubin set hastily to modelling and kneading the clay again with an air of vexation. 'So it is your wish to be a professor? said Elena to Bersenyev. 'Yes, he answered, squeezing his red hands between his knees. 'That's my cherished dream.
Shubin suggested that they should sing some Russian song in chorus, and struck up: 'Down the river Volga'... Bersenyev, Zoya, and even Anna Vassilyevna, joined in Insarov could not sing but they did not keep together; at the third verse the singers were all wrong. Only Bersenyev tried to go on in the bass, 'Nothing on the waves is seen, but he, too, was soon in difficulties.
Elena was on the point of stopping him, but after a moment's thought she too said: 'Good-bye. Shubin went out of the courtyard. At a short distance from the Stahov's house he was met by Bersenyev. He was walking with hurried steps, his head bent and his hat pushed back on his neck. 'Andrei Petrovitch! cried Shubin. He stopped.
I should advise you, my dear fellow, to do some botanising; that's the best thing you could hit on in your position; it might be useful, too, from a scientific point of view. Farewell! Shubin ran up to Zoya, offered her his arm, and saying: 'Ihre Hand, Madame' caught hold of her hand, and pushed on ahead with her.
He went after her, and when he was abreast with her, remarked: 'Don't look in my direction, I'm not worth it. She gave him a cursory glance, smiled cursorily, and walked on further into the depths of the garden. Shubin went after her. 'I beg you not to look at me, he began, 'and then I address you; flagrant contradiction. But what of that? it's not the first time I've contradicted myself.
A young girl in a large straw hat, with a pink parasol on her shoulder, came into sight at that instant, in the little path along which the friends were walking. 'But what do I see? Even here, there is beauty coming to meet us! A humble artist's compliments to the enchanting Zoya! Shubin cried at once, with a theatrical flourish of his hat.
He at once shut himself up in his room, but his candle was burning long after midnight. Bersenyev had had time to read a page of Raumer, when a handful of fine gravel came rattling on his window-pane. He could not help starting; opening the window he saw Shubin as white as a sheet. 'What an irrepressible fellow you are, you night moth Bersenyev was beginning.
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