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Updated: June 15, 2025
"I wanted to say something, Boris Pavlovich," said Leonti thoughtfully, raising his head, "but I can't remember what." "You said some one else had been reading my books." Leonti pointed to Vera, who was looking out of the window, but who now pulled Raisky's sleeve "Come!" she said and they left the house.
He was plainly startled, made no answer to Raisky's inquiry after Leonti's health, and walked quickly away. Vera was still more disconcerted but pulled herself together, and followed Raisky into the house. "What is the matter with him?" asked Raisky. "He did not answer a word, but simply bolted. You were frightened, too, Vera.
It will be better both for you and her if you give her complete liberty." Raisky passed on his way with bent head, glancing sadly at Vera's window. Savili's eyes too were on the ground, and he had forgotten to put his cap on again in his amazement at Raisky's last words. "Passion once more!" thought Raisky. "Alas, for Savili, and for me!"
It would have been hard for the expert in physiognomy to decipher Raisky's characteristics, inclinations and character from his face because of its extraordinary mobility. Still less could his mental physiognomy be defined. He had moments when, to use his own expression, he embraced the whole world, so that many people declared that there was no kinder, more amiable man in existence.
Vera's retired way of life, Tushin's devotion to her, her independence of her aunt's authority, were familiar and accustomed facts. But Raisky's attentions to her wrapped this simple situation in an uncertainty, which Paulina Karpovna had noticed, and had naturally not kept to herself. It was not only Tatiana Markovna who had marked out Tushin as Vera's probable husband.
She herself gazed at the picture with expressionless, hopeless eyes. When she rose she shuddered, and seemed unaware of Raisky's presence. A shot sounded once more. With a cry Vera ran over the meadow towards the cliff. Perhaps my conviction has conquered, she thought. Why else should he call her? Her feet hardly seemed to touch the grass as she ran into the avenue that led to the precipice.
In the house itself peace and joy reigned. The rooms were small, but cosy. Antique pieces of furniture had been brought over from the great house, as had the portraits of Raisky's parents and grandparents.
Raisky watched him in amazement, and offered his hand. "What favour is this?" said Mark bitterly, and without taking the proffered hand. "I thank you for having stood by my old friend." Mark seized Raisky's hand and shook it. "I have been looking for some means of serving you for a long time." "Why, Volokov, are you for ever executing quick changes like a clown in a circus?"
"It doesn't matter what the child does so long as he is amused," she remarked, not altogether missing the character of Raisky's occupation. "But why do you write at night, when I am so afraid of fire, and you might fall asleep over your drama. You will make yourself ill, and you often look as yellow as an over-ripe gherkin as it is." He looked in the glass, and was struck with his own appearance.
His aunt, Marfinka, and Vikentev, who had just happened to turn up, drove to the hay harvest, and the afternoon peace soon reigned over the house. One man crawled into the hayrick, another in the outhouse, another slept in the family carriage itself, while others took advantage of the mistress's absence to go into the outskirts of the town. Raisky's thoughts were filled with Vera.
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