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But his protestations soon grew weaker. Then he began to beg for mercy. He spoke of his wife and of his children. Matov's entreaties failed to impress any one. His judges were adamant. His fate was decided. The sentence of hanging was passed unanimously. Matov was bound. The noose was already thrown about his neck. Then Trirodov intervened: "What are you going to do with him?
But Elena's eyes aroused in him a sweet agitation for a new love. His wearied heart thirsted, and suffered intensely from deceived hopes. Misha was strangely distraught. He flushed, and ran off more than usual with his fishing-rod to the river; there he wept. Now he impetuously embraced Elisaveta, now Trirodov. He felt ashamed and bitter.
Yes, notwithstanding his strange form and his distressing immobility, Dmitry Matov was not dead. The potentiality of life slept dormant in that solid object. Trirodov thought more than once as to whether the time had not come to rehabilitate Matov and return him to the world of the living. He had not decided upon this before.
Trirodov continued: "I generalize for the sake of clearness. The present moment in history is especially convenient. It is history's zenith hour. Now that Christianity has revealed the eternal contradiction of the world, we are passing through the poignant struggle of those two world conceptions." "And not the struggle of the classes?" asked Rameyev.
The people who belong to Ananke are those who, acting of necessity, define their world clearly and conquer chaos. Theirs is the immutable truth. The bushes became moist and a fresh breeze blew from the river. Then Alkina came close to Trirodov and whispered to him: "If you are glad that she loves you, tell me, and I will share your gladness." Trirodov pressed her hand warmly.
His small, narrow eyes, which resembled those of a Kalmyk, became oily with pleasure. His cheeks became covered with a brick-red ruddiness. When the girls walked off to one side he gave a wink at Trirodov in their direction, and said in a sotto voce: "A flower garden, eh?" Trirodov looked severely at the Commissary, who became flustered and rather angry.
"We see him often, we can always go to him, and we haven't seen or heard anything in his house or in his colony to confirm the town tattle about him." Piotr recalled the evening that he met Trirodov on the river-bank. His sad but determined eyes suddenly flared up in Piotr's memory and the poison of his spite grew weaker.
Trirodov recalled that the Prince had many acquaintances, and that there were always large gatherings in his house. "Permit me to offer you some refreshment," said Trirodov. "Will you have wine?" "I'd rather have tea, if you don't mind," said Prince Davidov. Trirodov pressed the button of the electric bell.
Doulebova knew every one in town, and she knew especially well those who have had an unpleasant experience of some sort. Presently Trirodov appeared in a white summer suit. He looked with an ironic smile at the gaily dressed party of visitors. The visitors were met with courtesy; but the Headmaster was displeased because no honour was shown them and no special preparations were evident.
But tell me, why do you write so little?" With unexpected passion, almost with exasperation, Trirodov replied: "Why should I write volumes of tales on how they fell in love and why they fell out of love, and all that? I write only that which comes from myself, that which has not yet been said.
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