Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (362 page)

XVI

Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat as though he were in a dream. His head was going round. It was all so unexpected.... And the scent, the
 
singing ... the candles in the daytime ... the sorbet flavoured with vanilla. And Colibri kept coming closer to him, too; her hair shone and rustled, and there was a glow of warmth from her -
 
- and that melancholy face.... “A russalka!” thought Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He felt somewhat awkward.

“Tell me, my pretty, what put it into your head to invite me to - day?”

“You are young, pretty ... such I like.”

“So that’s it! But what will Emilie say? She wrote me a letter: she is sure to be back directly.”

“You not tell her ... nothing! Trouble! She will kill!”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed.

“As though she were so fierce!”

Colibri gravely shook her head several times.

“And to Madame Fritsche, too, nothing. No, no, no!” She tapped herself lightly on the forehead. “Do you understand, officer?”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch frowned.

“It’s a secret, then?”

“Yes ... yes.”

“Very well.... I won’t say a word. Only you ought to give me a kiss for that.”

“No, afterwards ... when you are gone.”

“That’s a fine idea!” Kuzma Vassilyevitch was bending down to her but she slowly drew herself back and stood stiffly erect like a snake startled in the grass. Kuzma Vassilyevitch stared at her. “Well!” he said at last, “you are a spiteful thing! All right, then.”

Colibri pondered and turned to the lieutenant.... All at once there was the muffled sound of tapping repeated three times at even intervals somewhere in the house. Colibri laughed, almost snorted.

“To - day -
 
- no, to - morrow -
 
- yes. Come to - morrow.”

“At what time?”.

“Seven ... in the evening.”

“And what about Emilie?”

“Emilie ... no; will not be here.”

“You think so? Very well. Only, to - morrow you will tell me?”

“What?” (Colibri’s face assumed a childish expression every time she asked a question.)

“Why you have been hiding away from me all this time?”

“Yes ... yes; everything shall be to - morrow; the end shall be.”

“Mind now! And I’ll bring you a present.”

“No ... no need.”

“Why not? I see you like fine clothes.”

“No need. This ... this ... this ...” she pointed to her dress, her rings, her bracelets, and everything about her, “it is all my own. Not a present. I do not take.”

“As you like. And now must I go?”

“Oh, yes.”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up. Colibri got up, too.

“Good - bye, pretty little doll! And when will you give me a kiss?”

Colibri suddenly gave a little jump and swiftly flinging both arms round his neck, gave him not precisely a kiss but a peck at his lips. He tried in his turn to kiss her but she instantly darted back and stood behind the sofa.

“To - morrow at seven o’clock, then?” he said with some confusion.

She nodded and taking a tress of her long hair with her two fingers, bit it with her sharp teeth.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch kissed his hand to her, went out and shut the door after him. He heard Colibri run up to it at once.... The key clicked in the lock.

XVII

There was no one in Madame Fritsche’s drawing - room. Kuzma Vassilyevitch made his way to the passage at once. He did not want to meet Emilie. Madame Fritsche met him on the steps.

“Ah, you are going, Mr. Lieutenant?” she said, with the same affected and sinister smile. “You won’t wait for Emilie?”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on his cap.

“I haven’t time to wait any longer, madam. I may not come to - morrow, either. Please tell her so.”

“Very good, I’ll tell her. But I hope you haven’t been dull, Mr. Lieutenant?”

“No, I have not been dull.”

“I thought not. Good - bye.”

“Good - bye.”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch returned home and stretching himself on his bed sank into meditation. He was unutterably perplexed. “What marvel is this?” he cried more than once. And why did Emilie write to him? She had made an appointment and not come! He took out her letter, turned it over in his hands, sniffed it: it smelt of tobacco and in one place he noticed a correction. But what could he deduce from that? And was it possible that Madame Fritsche knew nothing about it? And
she
.... Who was she? Yes, who was she? The fascinating Colibri, that “pretty doll,” that “little image,” was always before him and he looked forward with impatience to the following evening, though secretly he was almost afraid of this “pretty doll” and “little image.”

XVIII

Next day Kuzma Vassilyevitch went shopping before dinner, and, after persistent haggling, bought a tiny gold cross on a little velvet ribbon. “Though she declares,” he thought, “that she never takes presents, we all know what such sayings mean; and if she really is so disinterested, Emilie won’t be so squeamish.” So argued this Don Juan of Nikolaev, who had probably never heard of the original Don Juan and knew nothing about him. At six o’clock in the evening Kuzma Vassilyevitch shaved carefully and sending for a hairdresser he knew, told him to pomade and curl his topknot, which the latter did with peculiar zeal, not sparing the government note paper for curlpapers; then Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on a smart new uniform, took into his right hand a pair of new wash - leather gloves, and, sprinkling himself with lavender water, set off. Kuzma Vassilyevitch took a great deal more trouble over his personal appearance on this occasion than when he went to see his “Zuckerpüppchen”, not because he liked Colibri better than Emilie but in the “pretty little doll” there was something enigmatic, something which stirred even the sluggish imagination of the young lieutenant.

XIX

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.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch instantly fixed his eyes on the mysterious door. It remained closed. He coughed loudly once or twice so as to make known his presence.... The door did not stir. He held his breath, strained his ears.... He heard not the faintest sound or rustle; everything was still as death. Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up, approached the door on tiptoe and, fumbling in vain with his fingers, pressed his knee against it. It was no use. Then he bent down and once or twice articulated in a loud whisper, “Colibri! Colibri! Little doll!” No one responded. Kuzma Vassilyevitch drew himself up, straightened his uniform -
 
- and, after standing still a little while, walked with more resolute steps to the window and began drumming on the pane. He began to feel vexed, indignant; his dignity as an officer began to assert itself. “What nonsense is this?” he thought at last; “whom do they take me for? If they go on like this, I’ll knock with my fists. She will be forced to answer! The old woman will hear.... What of it? That’s not my fault.” He turned swiftly on his heel ... the door stood half open.

XX

Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately hastened into the secret room again on tiptoe. Colibri was lying on the sofa in a white dress with a broad red sash. Covering the lower part of her face with a handkerchief, she was laughing, a noiseless but genuine laugh. She had done up her hair, this time plaiting it into two long, thick plaits intertwined with red ribbon; the same slippers adorned her tiny, crossed feet but the feet themselves were bare and looking at them one might fancy that she had on dark, silky stockings. The sofa stood in a different position, nearer the wall; and on the table he saw on a Chinese tray a bright - coloured, round - bellied coffee pot beside a cut glass sugar bowl and two blue China cups. The guitar was lying there, too, and blue - grey smoke rose in a thin coil from a big, aromatic candle.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch went up to the sofa and bent over Colibri, but before he had time to utter a word she held out her hand and, still laughing in her handkerchief, put her little, rough fingers into his hair and instantly ruffled the well - arranged curls on the top of his head.

“What next?” exclaimed Kuzma Vassilyevitch, not altogether pleased by such unceremoniousness. “Oh, you naughty girl!”

Colibri took the handkerchief from her face.

“Not nice so; better now.” She moved away to the further end of the sofa and drew her feet up under her. “Sit down ... there.”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat down on the spot indicated.

“Why do you move away?” he said, after a brief silence. “Surely you are not afraid of me?”

Colibri curled herself up and looked at him sideways.

“I am not afraid ... no.”

“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.

Colibri freed her plaits which she was holding tight with her knees and with one of them gave him a flick on his hand.

“Not so fast, sir!”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch was embarrassed.

“What eyes she has, the rogue!” he muttered, as though to himself. “But,” he went on, raising his voice, “why did you call me ... if that is how it is?”

Colibri craned her neck like a bird ... she listened. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was alarmed.

“Emilie?” he asked.

“No.”

“Someone else?”

Colibri shrugged her shoulder.

“Do you hear something?”

“Nothing.” With a birdlike movement, again Colibri drew back her little oval - shaped head with its pretty parting and the short growth of tiny curls on the nape of her neck where her plaits began, and again curled herself up into a ball. “Nothing.”

“Nothing! Then now I’ll ...” Kuzma Vassilyevitch craned forward towards Colibri but at once pulled back his hand. There was a drop of blood on his finger. “What foolishness is this!” he cried, shaking his finger. “Your everlasting pins! And the devil of a pin it is!” he added, looking at the long, golden pin which Colibri slowly thrust into her sash. “It’s a regular dagger, it’s a sting.... Yes, yes, it’s your sting, and you are a wasp, that’s what you are, a wasp, do you hear?”

Apparently Colibri was much pleased at Kuzma Vasselyevitch’s comparison; she went off into a thin laugh and repeated several times over:

“Yes, I will sting ... I will sting.”

Kuzma Vassilyevitch looked at her and thought: “She is laughing but her face is melancholy.

“Look what I am going to show you,” he said aloud.

“
Tso?
”