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Updated: June 19, 2025
But Maria Nikolaevna, who was a first-rate horse-woman, reined her in; they had to take leave of Polozov, who in his inevitable fez and in an open dressing-gown, came out on to the balcony, and from there waved a batiste handkerchief, without the faintest smile, rather a frown, in fact, on his face.
'You don't like it, forgive me, I won't do it, don't be angry! Polozov came in from the next room with a newspaper in his hand. 'What do you want? Or is dinner ready? 'Dinner'll be ready directly, but just see what I've read in the Northern Bee ... Prince Gromoboy is dead. Maria Nikolaevna raised her head. 'Ah! I wish him the joys of Paradise!
You always go to sleep at the theatre, and you don't understand much German. I'll tell you what you'd better do, write an answer to the overseer you remember, about our mill ... about the peasants' grinding. Tell him that I won't have it, and I won't and that's all about it! There's occupation for you for the whole evening. 'All right, answered Polozov. 'Well then, that's first-rate.
'So our bet's on, isn't it? she said significantly. 'Yes, it's on. 'All right. You'll lose it. Polozov stuck out his chin. 'Well, this time you mustn't be too sanguine, Maria Nikolaevna, maybe you will lose. 'What is the bet? May I know? asked Sanin. 'No ... not now, answered Maria Nikolaevna, and she laughed. It struck seven. The waiter announced that the carriage was ready.
When she smiled, not one and not two, but three dimples came out on each cheek, and her eyes smiled more than her lips long, crimson, juicy lips with two tiny moles on the left side of them. Polozov waddled into the room and again established himself in the arm-chair. He was speechless as before; but from time to time a queer smile puffed out his colourless and already wrinkled cheeks.
Where have you come from? Where are you stopping? 'I came yesterday from Wiesbaden, Polozov replied in deliberate tones, 'to do some shopping for my wife, and I'm going back to Wiesbaden to-day. 'Oh, yes! You're married, to be sure, and they say, to such a beauty! Polozov turned his eyes away. 'Yes, they say so. Sanin laughed.
I've told you already, Dimitri Pavlovitch, I don't interfere in any of my wife's concerns, and I tell you so again. Polozov went on munching. 'H'm.... But how can I have a talk with her, Ippolit Sidorovitch? 'It's very simple, Dimitri Pavlovitch. Go to Wiesbaden. It's not far from here. Waiter, haven't you any English mustard? No? Brutes! Only don't lose any time.
"A story called 'Torrents of Spring." "Ah, the finest ever written! Where are you?" "Gemma and Sanin in the thunderstorm." "Wait! You have Madame Polozov to come! What a creation! How old are you, Miss Winton?" "Twenty-two." "You would be too young to appreciate that story if you were not YOU. But you know much by instinct. What is your Christian name forgive me!" "Ghita." "Ghita?
Polozov gulped down his wine, rinsed his mouth, and washed his hands, carefully wiped them on the napkin, took out and lighted a cigar. Sanin watched him in silence. 'There's one means, Polozov grunted at last, throwing his head back, and blowing out the smoke in a thin ring. 'Go to my wife. If she likes, she can take all the bother off your hands. 'But how can I see your wife?
I'm delighted to think that I can help you to get married, besides, I promised you that I would go into your business after lunch, and I always keep my promises, isn't that the truth, Ippolit Sidoritch? Polozov rubbed his face with his open hand. 'The truth's the truth. You don't deceive any one. 'Never! and I never will deceive any one.
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