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Updated: June 26, 2025
Can you really have behaved so rudely to a lady, African Semenitch? 'What! Do you regard Elena Antonovna as a lady? 'What do you regard her as? 'A drum, upon my word, an ordinary drum such as they beat with sticks. 'Oh, interrupted Alexandra Pavlovna, anxious to change the conversation, 'they tell me one may congratulate you. 'Upon what? 'The end of your lawsuit.
Oh yes, that's the French ambassador himself!" she replied to the countess' inquiry about Caulaincourt. "Looks as if he were a king! All the same, the French are charming, very charming. No one more charming in society. Ah, here she is! Yes, she is still the most beautiful of them all, our Marya Antonovna! And how simply she is dressed! Lovely!
Sophia Antonovna gave me a detailed relation of what had occurred there. Razumov himself had told her all about it, most minutely. Then, looking hard at me with her brilliant black eyes "There are evil moments in every life. A false suggestion enters one's brain, and then fear is born fear of oneself, fear for oneself. Or else a false courage who knows?
I should think he knows more of it than anybody." "Well, and you, Sophia Antonovna, what's your theory?" asked Razumov in a tone of great interest. "Yours and your informant's, who is on the spot." "I agree with him. Some police-hound in disguise. Who else could beat a helpless man so unmercifully?
"I've arranged that!" Semyonov answered shortly. It was of course my fate to travel in the ancient black carriage that was one of the glories of our Otriad, with Sister Sofia Antonovna, the Sister with the small red-rimmed eyes of whom I have spoken on an earlier page.
Sophia Antonovna was very calm and deliberate again. She had received the letter three days ago, but did not write at once to Peter Ivanovitch. She knew then that she would have the opportunity presently of meeting several men of action assembled for an important purpose. "I thought it would be more effective if I could show the letter itself at large. I have it in my pocket now.
"Peter Ivanovitch," said Sophia Antonovna gravely, "has united himself to a peasant girl." I was truly astonished. "What! On the Riviera?" "What nonsense! Of course not." Sophia Antonovna's tone was slightly tart. "Is he, then, living actually in Russia? It's a tremendous risk isn't it?" I cried. "And all for the sake of a peasant girl. Don't you think it's very wrong of him?"
It was only when out of the hotel and as we moved along the quay in the fresh darkness spangled by the quay lights, reflected in the black water of the little port on our left hand, and with lofty piles of hotels on our right, that she spoke. "That was Sophia Antonovna you know the woman?..." "Yes, I know the famous..." "The same.
Razumov felt sorry for the old lover of the bottle and women. "Yes. Some of them end like that," he muttered. "What is your idea, Sophia Antonovna?" It was really the idea of her correspondent, but Sophia Antonovna had adopted it fully. She stated it in one word "Remorse." Razumov opened his eyes very wide at that.
But he was a well-bred person; he averted his gaze and moved off with short steps along the avenue, on the watch for a tramcar. A gesture from Sophia Antonovna, "Leave him to me," had sent the two men away the buzzing of the inarticulate voice growing fainter and fainter, and the thin pipe of "What now? what's the matter?" reduced to the proportions of a squeaking toy by the distance.
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