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Updated: June 7, 2025
"I could have been a lady like that long ago, but I have some self-respect! We'll see which of us will be the first to go!" Zinaida Fyodorovna rang the bell. She was sitting in her room, in the corner, looking as though she had been put in the corner as a punishment. "No telegram has come?" she asked. "No, madam." "Ask the porter; perhaps there is a telegram.
My father flung away the whip, and running quickly up the steps, dashed into the house.... Zinaida turned round, and with outstretched arms and downcast head, she too moved away from the window. My heart sinking with panic, with a sort of awe-struck horror, I rushed back, and running down the lane, almost letting go my hold of Electric, went back to the bank of the river.
You'll do that, won't you? you're so good, too! She laid both her hands affectionately on my shoulders, and I was utterly bewildered. The presence of this boy transformed me, too, into a boy. I looked in silence at the cadet, who stared as silently at me. Zinaida laughed, and pushed us towards each other. 'Embrace each other, children! We embraced each other.
Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the couch, and raising herself on her elbow, she looked towards me. Unable to bring myself to speak, I walked slowly by, and she followed me with her eyes. I stood for a little time in the dining-room and then walked by her again, and she looked at me intently and with perplexity, even with alarm.
'Well, to my mind, Hugo beats Byron, the young count observed negligently; 'he's more interesting. 'Hugo is a writer of the first class, replied Meidanov; 'and my friend, Tonkosheev, in his Spanish romance, El Trovador ... 'Ah! is that the book with the question-marks turned upside down? Zinaida interrupted. 'Yes. That's the custom with the Spanish. I was about to observe that Tonkosheev ...
On New Year's Eve Orlov unexpectedly announced at breakfast that he was being sent to assist a senator who was on a revising commission in a certain province. "I don't want to go, but I can't find an excuse to get off," he said with vexation. "I must go; there's nothing for it." Such news instantly made Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes look red. "Is it for long?" she asked. "Five days or so."
His face was just as usual neither stupid nor intelligent and it seemed to me a perfect marvel that a man whom I was accustomed to see in the midst of the most degrading, impure surroundings, was capable of such purity, of rising to a feeling so lofty, so far beyond my reach. Zinaida Fyodorovna's face glowed, and she walked about the drawing-room in emotion.
His feelings are hurt too now ... I can't help it! you'll understand it all some day ... only don't be angry with me! Zinaida hurriedly pressed my hand and ran on ahead. We went back into the lodge. Meidanov set to reading us his 'Manslayer, which had just appeared in print, but I did not hear him.
And I remember that then, by the death-bed of that poor old woman, I felt aghast for Zinaida, and longed to pray for her, for my father and for myself. In one of the outlying streets of Moscow, in a grey house with white columns and a balcony, warped all askew, there was once living a lady, a widow, surrounded by a numerous household of serfs.
I sat beside her by virtue of my office as page. Among other things, she proposed that any one who had to pay a forfeit should tell his dream; but this was not successful. Meidanov regaled us with a regular romance; there were sepulchres in it, and angels with lyres, and talking flowers and music wafted from afar. Zinaida did not let him finish.
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