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I have grown accustomed to living with my fantasies, and in the peaceful society of my quiet children. I love seclusion." "Where did your quiet children come from?" asked Piotr somewhat contemptuously. But Trirodov continued as though he had not heard. "Please forgive me. I too often accept for reality that which exists only in my imagination. Perhaps always. I live devoted to my dreams."
"Yes," said Trirodov, "it is quite true that it is impossible for you to know this. Continue your tale." "This same affair," said Ostrov, "is a very profitable article for us just now. Indeed, an article in the budget, as they say." "Why?" Trirodov's face did not reveal any astonishment, as Ostrov went on: "We have Potseluytchikov among us, a very lively individual."
Trirodov quietly addressed a gendarme, but the latter replied in a whisper: "We are not permitted to enter into conversation with any one. Those scoundrelly spies are watching us, so that we shouldn't speak with liberals. They are quick to inform against us." "You are in an unfortunate business," said Trirodov. The Inspector of the police read the official report aloud.
She laughed and said joyously: "I knew you by your voice alone. Your beard and moustache make you wholly unrecognizable." "They are glued on," explained Trirodov. They conversed. He heard some one whisper behind his back: "That is comrade Elisaveta. She's considered the first beauty in our town."
You are lying there and not doing any one any harm, and are roused and made to walk along. What new rules have they got for us disturbing the dead! You've only just found your earth when up you must be and moving." Unsteady on his feet, the muzhik continued to pour out his coarse abuse; when he saw Trirodov he opened his eyes wide and went straight to him.
And all her thoughts and musings joined in one dancing circle around Trirodov. Should she wait? He was a weary, sad man, and he would not say the sweet words for fear of appearing ridiculous, and of receiving a cold answer. "Why should I wait?" she thought. "Or don't I dare decide my fate like a queen, to call him to me, and to demand his love? Why should I remain silent?"
He shrank and stooped, and as he took his cap off he revealed an unkempt, tousled head of hair; he mumbled something, slipped away among the bushes, and disappeared quietly like a fairy of the wood. Trirodov looked gloomily after him and was silent. Elisaveta thought that he deliberately avoided looking at her. She was intensely embarrassed, but made an effort to control herself.
Trirodov glanced at her like one suddenly awakened and said slowly: "It is a boy who has not yet lived, and who is still chaste. His body contains all possibilities and not a single achievement. He is like one created to receive every energy directed at him. Now he is asleep in his tight coffin, in a grave.
Rameyev looked at Elisaveta and Trirodov, and he was consumed by a strange, mature joy. He seemed to think: "They will marry and bring me grandchildren." There were already certain hours in which they expected him. He and Elisaveta often remained alone. Something in their natures drew them apart from other people, whether strangers or kin.
His beard was reddish, short, and cut to a point. His red-gold, slightly wavy hair was cut quite short. This astonished Trirodov, who had always seen the Prince in portraits wearing his hair rather long, like the poet Nadson. His eyes were black, flaming and deep.
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