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A silence as of death reigned over the land, yet life thrilled through it; and now and then piping goldfinches appeared from their winter nests in the moist green ditches, and flew ahead of Polunin; then suddenly turned aside and perched lightly on the wayside brambles. Night still lingered amid the calm splendour of the vast, primeval forest.
"What are you saying, Kseniya?" he asked in a low, grave, pained tone. "I have told you what I want. Give me a child and then go anywhere back to your Alena! I have not forgotten that June and July." "I cannot," Polunin replied firmly; "I love Alena." "I do not want love," she persisted; "I have no need of it. Indeed I have not, for I do not even love you!"
She drank her glass of tea feverishly, threw herself back in the chair, and was silent. Polunin also took his, warming himself after his cold drive. She spoke again after a while in a quiet dreamy tone: "In this stove, flames will suddenly flare up, then die away, and it will become cold. You and I have always had broken conversations. Perhaps the Arkhipovs are right when it seems expedient, kill!
In the study Alena had made herself up a bed on the sofa, sat down next it in an armchair and began tending her baby, bending over it humming a wordless lullaby. Polunin sat down by her when he came in and discussed domestic affairs; then took the child from Alena and rocked her. Pale green beams of moonlight flooded through the windows. Polunin thought of St.
Polunin arrived early. Kseniya Ippolytovna greeted him in the drawing-room. A bright fire burnt on the hearth; beside it were two deep armchairs. No lamps were alight, but the fire-flames cast warm, orange reflections; the round-topped windows seemed silvery in the hoar-frost. Kseniya Ippolytovna wore a dark evening dress and had plaited her hair; she shook hands with Polunin.
At night we sit in restaurants, drinking wine and listening to garish music. We love but are childless.... And you? You live a sober, righteous and sensible life, seeking the truth.... Isn't that so? Truth!" Her cry was malignant and full of derision. "That is unjust, Kseniya," answered Polunin in a low voice, hanging his head.
He went out and returned with a tray on which were two glasses of tea, a decanter of rum, some pastries, figs, and honey, and laid them on the little table beside the armchairs. "Will you have the lamps lighted, Barina?" he inquired, respectfully. "No. You may go. Close the door." The old butler looked at them knowingly; then withdrew. Kseniya turned at once to Polunin.
Unlike that in the study, the light in here was not cold, but warm and waxy, so that again Kseniya Ippolytovna's face seemed strangely green to Polunin, her hair a yellow-red; her large, dark, deep-sunken eyes bore a stubborn look. "God has endowed you with wonderful beauty, Kseniya, Ippolytovna," Polunin said gravely. She gave him a keen glance; then smiled. "God has made me wonderfully tempting!
"The snow is blue-white here, as it is in Norway I jilted Valpyanov there. The Norwegian people are like trolls. There is no better place than Russia! With you nothing changes. Have you forgiven me that July?" Polunin approached and stood beside her. "Yes, I have forgiven", he said earnestly.
Polunin asked suddenly. "I just glanced through the History of Art; then I sat down with Natasha." "He has the most wonderful devilry!" Polunin declared, "and, do you know, there is another painter Bosch. He has something more than devilry in him. You should see his Temptation of St. Anthony!" They began to discuss Goya, Bosch, and St.
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