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Volochine walked first, ensnared by her beauty, and apparently oblivious of aught else. Lida sat down in the rocking-chair under the linden-tree and stretched out her pretty little feet clad in black open-work stockings and tan shoes. It was as if she had two natures; the one overwhelmed with modesty and shame, the other, full of self-conscious coquetry.
He could not tell why, but everything, Lida's laughter, her scornful eyes and trembling hands were all to him as so many secret boxes on the ear. His growing hatred of her, and his jealousy of Volochine as well as the consciousness of all that he had lost, served to exhaust him utterly. "Already?" asked Lida. Volochine smiled sweetly, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue.
Before the eyes of Volochine, Lida was exhibited as in a state of nudity, her physical attributes and her passion all being displayed as though she were some animal for sale at a fair. By their filthy thoughts she was touched and polluted and held up to ridicule.
Volochine was eager to have details of the other's conquests. A little vein just below his left knee throbbed convulsively. Sarudine, however, was not thinking of such piquant details, but of the distressing events of the last few days. He turned towards the garden and drummed with his fingers on the window-sill.
"I only got here yesterday," said the gentleman in white, in a determined tone, though his voice sounded like the suppressed crowing of a cock. "My comrades," said Sarudine, introducing the others. "Gentlemen, this is Mr. Pavel Lvovitsch Volochine." Volochine bowed slightly. "We must make a note of that!" observed the tipsy Ivanoff, much to Sarudine's horror. "Pray sit down, Pavel Lvovitsch.
"You ought to visit the environs, which are charming for excursions and picnics. There's boating and bathing, too." "Of course, madam, of course!" drawled Volochine, who was already somewhat bored. The conversation languished, and they all seemed to be wearing smiling masks behind which lurked hostile eyes.
Volochine had clothed his puny little body in virgin white, after sprinkling himself from head to foot with various essences; and, although he did not exactly approve of Sarudine's society, he hailed a droschky and hastened to the latter's rooms. Sarudine was sitting at the window, drinking cold tea. "What a lovely evening!" he kept saying to himself, as he looked out on the garden.
Despite his simulated ease, Sarudine looked obviously anxious. He felt that he ought not to have come. He dreaded meeting Lida, yet he could on no account let Volochine see this, to whom he wished to pose as a gay Lothario. "Dear Maria Ivanovna," began Sarudine, smiling affectedly, "allow me to introduce to you my good friend, Paul Lvovitch Volochine."
He felt honestly pleased to think this, at the same time being anxious to show off before Volochine, while yet bitterly conscious of an irrevocable loss. Lida languidly addressed her mother. "There is some one who wants to speak to you," she said. "Oh! I can't go now," replied Maria Ivanovna. "But they are waiting," persisted Lida, almost hysterically. Maria Ivanovna got up quickly.
Folding up his letter he followed her out, curious to see what turn matters would take. With exaggerated politeness Sarudine and Volochine rose to salute the old lady, yet the former showed none of his wonted ease of manner when at the Sanines'. Volochine indeed felt slightly uncomfortable, because he had come expressly to see Lida, and was obliged to conceal his intention.
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