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Updated: June 24, 2025


Kseniya was tired to death, but endeavoured to appear fresh and cheerful. She passed the coffee round, and then fetched a bottle of liqueur. They sat almost in silence; what talk they exchanged was desultory. "One more year dropped into Eternity," Arkhipov said, sombrely. "Yes, a year nearer to death, a year further from birth," rejoined Polunin. Kseniya Ippolytovna was seated opposite him.

Polunin sat down beside her, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. They were silent. Kseniya Ippolytovna said at last: "You have grown old, Polunin!" "Yes, I have grown old. People do, but there is nothing terrible in that when they have found what they sought for." "Yes, when they have found it.... But what about now? Why do you say that? Is it Alena?" "Why ask?

"I was packing up for Nice, where a lover expected me, when suddenly I felt an overwhelming desire for a babe, a dear, sweet, little babe of my own, and I remembered you .... Then I travelled here, to Russia so as to bear it in reverence.... I am able to do so now!..." Polunin rose and stood close to Kseniya Ippolytovna: his expression was serious and alarmed. "Don't beat me," she murmured.

But she did not offer her hand to Polunin. Kseniya Ippolytovna had greatly changed since that far-off summer. Her eyes, her wilful lips, her Grecian nose, and smooth brows were as beautiful as ever, but now there was something reminiscent of late August in her. Formerly she had worn bright costumes now she wore dark; and her soft auburn hair was fastened in a simple plait.

Polunin sat in his seat, huddled together, brooding morosely, deriving a grim satisfaction from the fact that all the same he had not broken the law. Henceforth, he never could break it; the thought of Kseniya Ippolytovna brought pain, but he would not condemn her.

Unlike that in the study, the light in here was not cold, but warm and waxy, so that again Kseniya Ippolytovna's face seemed strangely green to Polunin, her hair a yellow-red; her large, dark, deep-sunken eyes bore a stubborn look. "God has endowed you with wonderful beauty, Kseniya, Ippolytovna," Polunin said gravely. She gave him a keen glance; then smiled. "God has made me wonderfully tempting!

From a mere trifle, something Kseniya Ippolytovna said about fortune-telling at Christmas, there arose an old-standing dispute between the two men on Belief and Unbelief. Arkhipov spoke with calmness and conviction, but Polunin grew angry, confused, and agitated.

Kseniya Ippolytovna laughed: "I have already said everything! Isn't it cold? I have not been out to-day. I have been thinking about Paris and of that ... that June.... Tea should be ready by this time!" She rose and rung the bell, and the old butler came in. "Will tea be long?" "I will bring it now, Barina."

Kseniya Ippolytovna mounted the steps and rang, although Polunin had already opened the door for her. The hall was large, bright, and cold. As she entered, the sunrays fell a moment on the windows and the light grew warm and waxy, lending to her face as Polunin thought a greenish-yellow tint, like the skin of a peach, and infinitely beautiful.

There was a smell of burning wax, candle-grease, and burning paper. Kseniya Ippolytovna was the soul of gaiety; she laughed and jested cheerfully as she waltzed with a Lyceum student, a General's son. She had re-dressed her hair gorgeously, and wore a pearl necklace round her throat. The old men sat round card-tables in the lounge, talking on local topics.

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