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Updated: June 15, 2025
On reaching home, Polunin looked up into the overarching sky, searching the glittering expanse for his beloved Cassiopeian Constellation, and gazed intently at the sturdy splendour of the Polar Star; then he watered the horses, gave them their forage for the night, and treated them to a special whistling performance. It struck warm in the stables, and there was a smell of horses' sweat.
At half past eleven a footman opened the door leading into the dining-room and solemnly announced that supper was served. They supped and toasted, ate and drank amid the clatter of knives, forks, dishes, and spoons. Kseniya made Arkhipov, Polunin, a General and a Magistrate sit beside her.
Kseniya was tired to death, but endeavoured to appear fresh and cheerful. She passed the coffee round, and then fetched a bottle of liqueur. They sat almost in silence; what talk they exchanged was desultory. "One more year dropped into Eternity," Arkhipov said, sombrely. "Yes, a year nearer to death, a year further from birth," rejoined Polunin. Kseniya Ippolytovna was seated opposite him.
Kseniya Ippolytovna mounted the steps and rang, although Polunin had already opened the door for her. The hall was large, bright, and cold. As she entered, the sunrays fell a moment on the windows and the light grew warm and waxy, lending to her face as Polunin thought a greenish-yellow tint, like the skin of a peach, and infinitely beautiful.
"I am feeling sad to-day, Polunin," she said in a melancholy voice. They sat down in the armchairs. "I expected you at five. It is now six. But you are always churlish and inconsiderate towards women. You haven't once wanted to be alone with me or guessed that I desired it!" She spoke calmly, rather coldly, gazing obstinately into the fire, her cheeks cupped between her narrow palms.
Polunin sat down beside her, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. They were silent. Kseniya Ippolytovna said at last: "You have grown old, Polunin!" "Yes, I have grown old. People do, but there is nothing terrible in that when they have found what they sought for." "Yes, when they have found it.... But what about now? Why do you say that? Is it Alena?" "Why ask?
In the holidays they drove about together in droskies, and told fortunes: Kseniya Ippolytovna was presented with a waxen cradle. They drove to town with some mummers, and attended an amateur performance in a club. Polunin dressed up as a wood-spirit, Kseniya as a wood- spirit's daughter out of a birch-grove. Then they visited the neighbouring landowners.
He contended that without Faith there was only death; that the one thing immutable in life was the tragedy of Faith and the Spirit. "But do you know what Thought is, Polunin?" "Yes, indeed I do!" "Don't smile! Do you not know that Thought kills everything? Reflect, think thrice over what you regard as sacred, and it will be as simple as a glass of lemonade." "But death?"
But she laughed at his ardour, and her avid lips callously drank in his consuming, protesting passion, only to desert him afterwards, abandoning him for Paris, and leaving behind her the shreds of his pure and passionate love. That June and July had brought joy and sorrow, good and ill. Polunin was already disillusioned when he met Alena, and was living alone with his books.
From a mere trifle, something Kseniya Ippolytovna said about fortune-telling at Christmas, there arose an old-standing dispute between the two men on Belief and Unbelief. Arkhipov spoke with calmness and conviction, but Polunin grew angry, confused, and agitated.
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