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Updated: May 5, 2025
Being as he himself expressed it of a susceptible but modest temperament Kuzma Vassilyevitch did not address the "charmer," but smiled ingratiatingly at her and looked long and attentively after her.... Then he would heave a deep sigh, go home with the same sedate step, sit down at the window and dream for half an hour, carefully smoking strong tobacco out of a meerschaum pipe with an amber mouthpiece given him by his godfather, a police superintendent of German origin.
If this torture is prolonged another ten minutes I shall shout for the police. It's insufferable." But at last the lady began reading more loudly and more rapidly, and finally raising her voice she read "Curtain." Pavel Vassilyevitch uttered a faint sigh and was about to get up, but the lady promptly turned the page and went on reading. ACT II. Scene, a village street. On right, School.
Madame Fritsche greeted him as she had done the day before and as though she had conspired with him in a plan of deception, informed him again that Emilie had gone out for a short time and asked him to wait. Kuzma Vassilyevitch nodded in token of assent and sat down on a chair. Madame Fritsche smiled again, that is, showed her yellow tusks and withdrew without offering him any chocolate.
She flung back her mane of hair, put her head on one side and struck several chords, looking carefully at the tips of her fingers and at the top of the guitar ... then suddenly began singing in a voice unexpectedly strong and agreeable, but guttural and to the ears of Kuzma Vassilyevitch rather savage. "Oh, you pretty kitten," he thought.
"You must not be shy with me," Kuzma Vassilyevitch said in an admonishing tone. "Do you remember your promise yesterday to give me a kiss?" Colibri put her arms round her knees, laid her head on them and looked at him again. "I remember." "I should hope so. And you must keep your word." "Yes ... I must." "In that case," Kuzma Vassilyevitch was beginning, and he moved nearer.
"Pavel Vassilyevitch," the lady said languishingly, clasping her hands and raising them in supplication, "I know you're busy. . . . Your every minute is precious, and I know you're inwardly cursing me at this moment, but . . . Be kind, allow me to read you my play . . . . Do be so very sweet!"
The girl was dressed like a young lady, not like a workgirl. Kuzma Vassilyevitch stepped aside; his feeling of compassion overpowered his fear of doing something foolish and, when she caught him up, he politely touched the peak of his shako, and asked her the cause of her tears. "For," he added, and he laid his hand on his cutlass, "I, as an officer, may be able to help you."
She did not smile, and indeed knitted her brows, her delicate, high, rounded eyebrows, between which a dark blue mark, probably burnt in with gunpowder, stood out sharply, looking like some letter of an oriental alphabet. She almost closed her eyes but their pupils glimmered dimly under the drooping lids, fastened as before on Kuzma Vassilyevitch.
Pavel Petrovitch showed himself, made a slight bow, and saying with a sort of malicious mournfulness, 'You are here, he retreated. Fenitchka at once gathered up all her roses and went out of the arbour. 'It was wrong of you, Yevgeny Vassilyevitch, she whispered as she went. There was a note of genuine reproach in her whisper.
"Here is a glass of water for you. Fresh as crystal! Wait, I'll put a pillow under your head.... And here is this to keep the flies off." She covered his face with a handkerchief. "Thank you, my little cupid.... I'll just have a tiny doze ... that's all." Kuzma Vassilyevitch closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.
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