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Updated: May 22, 2025
With the expression of a child who very much wants to be mischievous, she sighed with relief and laughed again. "You will excuse me," said Orlov, nodding towards the coffee. "Reading at breakfast is a habit I can't get over. But I can do two things at once read and listen." "Read away. . . . You shall keep your habits and your freedom. But why do you look so solemn?
That may be true, but it was absolutely impossible to judge of Orlov by what he read. It was a regular hotchpotch. Philosophy, French novels, political economy, finance, new poets, and publications of the firm Posrednik* and he read it all with the same rapidity and with the same ironical expression in his eyes.
And, true enough, the child was sound asleep, though to my eyes he looked much as any other baby might have done, save that the couch of autumn leaves on which he was ensconced consisted of leaves of a kind which could not have been discovered in the faraway forests of Orlov. "Now, do you yourself lie down awhile," was my advice.
Orlov had become, one might say, the principal interest of her life.
"You are always losing something; first it's your watch and then it's your money . . ." said Orlov. "Why is it nothing of the sort ever happens to me?"
The speed of Orlov trotters is very great, but no whip is used in driving them; the coachmen drive with a rein in each hand, like the drivers of American trotters, and shout after the manner of firemen to clear the road, for these animals seem to require a good deal of holding.
Orlov rejected with disgust children, cooking, copper saucepans, and feminine knicknacks and I gathered them all up, tenderly cherished them in my dreams, loved them, and begged them of destiny. I had visions of a wife, a nursery, a little house with garden paths. . . .
She blushed as she did so, and was so confused that she began talking of something else. When I took in the coffee to the study, Orlov was standing with his back to the fire and she was sitting in an arm-chair facing him. "I am not in a bad temper at all," she was saying in French. "But I have been putting things together, and now I see it clearly.
My feelings and my intelligence are opposed to both, but my tastes lie more in the direction of the former. Well, now for the evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing at his watch. "It's high time for you to understand that there are no evils in the system itself; what is the matter is that you don't know yourselves what you want from marriage. What is it you want?
"Why do you speak to me like that?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, stepping back as though in horror. "What for? George, for God's sake, think what you are saying!" Her voice quivered and broke; she was evidently trying to restrain her tears, but she suddenly broke into sobs. "George, my darling, I am perishing!" she said in French, dropping down before Orlov, and laying her head on his knees.
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