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That evening Kuzma Vassilyevitch Yergunov told us his story again. He used to repeat it punctually once a month and we heard it every time with fresh satisfaction though we knew it almost by heart, in all its details. Those details overgrew, if one may so express it, the original trunk of the story itself as fungi grow over the stump of a tree.
I love him, I love him more than life! BARON: Anna Sergyevna, you forget that you are ruining your father . . . . The lady began swelling again. . . . Looking round him wildly Pavel Vassilyevitch got up, yelled in a deep, unnatural voice, snatched from the table a heavy paper-weight, and beside himself, brought it down with all his force on the authoress's head. . . .
And before that Grigory Vassilyevitch had suddenly got up and came out, and he suddenly gave a scream, and then all was silence and darkness. I lay there waiting, my heart beating; I couldn’t bear it. I got up at last, went out.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch wanted to touch "the image." She drew back. "How is it she has never spoken of you?" "Could not ... could not." "You are in concealment then ... in hiding?" "Yes." "Are there reasons?" "Reasons ... reasons." "Hm!" Again Kuzma Vassilyevitch would have touched the figure, again she stepped back. "So that's why I never saw you. I must own I never suspected your existence.
"Tell me, my pretty, what put it into your head to invite me to-day?" "You are young, pretty ... such I like." "So that's it! But what will Emilie say? She wrote me a letter: she is sure to be back directly." "You not tell her ... nothing! Trouble! She will kill!" Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed. "As though she were so fierce!" Colibri gravely shook her head several times.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch drew himself up, straightened his uniform and, after standing still a little while, walked with more resolute steps to the window and began drumming on the pane. He began to feel vexed, indignant; his dignity as an officer began to assert itself. "What nonsense is this?" he thought at last; "whom do they take me for? If they go on like this, I'll knock with my fists.
The fascinating Colibri, that "pretty doll," that "little image," was always before him and he looked forward with impatience to the following evening, though secretly he was almost afraid of this "pretty doll" and "little image." Next day Kuzma Vassilyevitch went shopping before dinner, and, after persistent haggling, bought a tiny gold cross on a little velvet ribbon.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch put a lump of sugar in the cup and drank it off at one draught. The coffee struck him as very strong and bitter. Colibri looked at him, smiling, and faintly dilated her nostrils over the edge of her cup. She slowly put it down on the table. "Why don't you drink it?" asked Kuzma Vassilyevitch. "Not all, now." Kuzma Vassilyevitch got excited. "Do sit down beside me, at least."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch lodged a formal complaint; proceedings were taken. Several numbered reports and instructions were dispatched in various directions; the appropriate acknowledgments and replies followed in due course.... There the incident closed.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a little surprised but thought it his duty to introduce himself. Madame Fritsche looked at him from under her brows, made no response, but asked her niece in Russian whether she would like some tea. "Ah, yes, tea!" answered Emilie. "You will have some tea, won't you, Mr. Officer? Yes, auntie, give us some tea! But why are you standing, Mr. Officer? Sit down!
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