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Updated: June 22, 2025
Kolpakov did not mind being found by the postman or Pasha's lady friends, but by way of precaution gathered up his clothes and went into the next room, while Pasha ran to open the door. To her great surprise in the doorway stood, not the postman and not a girl friend, but an unknown woman, young and beautiful, who was dressed like a lady, and from all outward signs was one.
Pasha impulsively flung out of the chest a gold watch, a cigar-case and studs, and said, flinging up her hands: "I've nothing else left. . . . You can search!" The visitor gave a sigh, with trembling hands twisted the things up in her handkerchief, and went out without uttering a word, without even nodding her head. The door from the next room opened and Kolpakov walked in.
Both were bored and waiting for the heat of the day to be over in order to go for a walk. All at once there was a sudden ring at the door. Kolpakov, who was sitting with his coat off, in his slippers, jumped up and looked inquiringly at Pasha. "It must be the postman or one of the girls," said the singer.
"Is my husband here?" she asked at last, raising to Pasha her big eyes with their red tear-stained lids. "Husband?" whispered Pasha, and was suddenly so frightened that her hands and feet turned cold. "What husband?" she repeated, beginning to tremble. "My husband, . . . Nikolay Petrovitch Kolpakov." "N . . . no, madam. . . . I . . . I don't know any husband." A minute passed in silence.
He was pale and kept shaking his head nervously, as though he had swallowed something very bitter; tears were glistening in his eyes. "What presents did you make me?" Pasha asked, pouncing upon him. "When did you, allow me to ask you?" "Presents . . . that's no matter!" said Kolpakov, and he tossed his head. "My God! She cried before you, she humbled herself. . . ."
ONE day when she was younger and better-looking, and when her voice was stronger, Nikolay Petrovitch Kolpakov, her adorer, was sitting in the outer room in her summer villa. It was intolerably hot and stifling. Kolpakov, who had just dined and drunk a whole bottle of inferior port, felt ill-humoured and out of sorts.
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