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Taking an orange, Lubov began to peel it with exaggerated attention, while Smolin, lowering his eyes, examined his moustaches, which he carefully stroked with his left hand, toyed with a knife and suddenly asked the girl in a lowered voice: "Pardon me for my indiscretion. It is evidently really difficult for you, Lubov Yakovlevna, to live with your father.
His eyes flashed drily, and he straightened himself like a tightly-stretched string. His wrinkles shrank painfully, his face seemed to have become smaller and darker, and when Lubov saw him in this state it appeared to her that he was seriously ill, but that he was forcing and restraining himself.
"That makes thirty-five percent. Mm! The fellow's a rogue. Send down thy light and thy truth." "Papa!" exclaimed Lubov, mournfully and with fright. "What?" "You are you pleased with him?" "With whom? "Smolin." "Smolin? Yes, he's a rogue, he's a clever fellow, a splendid merchant! Well, I'm off now. So be on your guard, arm yourself."
Turning around, Lubov noticed the captain of the "Yermak," Yefim, coming along the garden path. He had respectfully removed his cap and bowed to her. There was a hopelessly guilty expression on his face and he seemed abashed. Yakov Tarasovich recognized him and, instantly grown alarmed, he cried: "Where are you coming from? What has happened?"
"Nothing," said Foma, with a smile. "I want to ask you whether you are glad?" "Of course I am!" exclaimed Lubov. "And what about?" "That is, what do you mean?" "Just so. What about?" "You're queer!" said Lubov, looking at him with astonishment. "Can't you see?" "What?" asked Foma, sarcastically. "What's the trouble with you?" said Lubov, looking at him uneasily.
Ask him whether he isn't married, how he lives, what he thinks. But then I'll tell you what to write when the time has come." "Do it at once, papa," said the girl. "It is necessary to marry you off the sooner. I am keeping an eye on a certain red-haired fellow. He doesn't seem to be stupid. He's been polished abroad, by the way. "Is it Smolin, papa?" asked Lubov, inquisitively and anxiously.
"Oh, DO leave me alone!" he cried to the maid whom Sophia Ivanovna sent to ask him whether his teeth were still hurting him, and whether he would not like to have a poultice made. Then, saying that my bed would soon be ready for me and that he would be back presently, he departed to Lubov Sergievna's room. "What a pity that Varenika is not good-looking and, in general, Sonetchka!"
When Lubov remained alone she flung her work aside and leaned against the back of her chair, closing her eyes tightly. Her hands firmly clasped together lay on her knees, and their fingers twitched. Filled with the bitterness of offended vanity, she felt an alarming fear of the future, and prayed in silence: "My God! Oh Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind, sincere. Oh Lord!
Robust and strong, Lubov was thinking of marriage more and more frequently of late, for she saw no other way out of her loneliness. The desire to forsake her father and go away somewhere in order to study something, to do something. This desire she had long since overcome, even as she conquered in herself many another longing just as keen, but shallow and indefinite.
"You have nothing then to discuss with me?" asked Taras again. "I am very pleased." He turned sideways to Foma and inquired of Lubov: "What do you think will father return soon?" Foma looked at him, and, feeling something akin to respect for the man, deliberately left the house.
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