The Precipice Part 16

"You see that I don't drink away my talents," he remarked.

"Yes, that is an improvement, a step forward. You haven't succ.u.mbed to society, to perfumes, gloves and dancing. Drinking is a different thing.

It goes to one man's head, another is susceptible to pa.s.sion. Tell me, do you easily take fire? Ah! I have touched the spot," he went on as Raisky coloured. "That belongs to the artistic temperament, to which nothing is foreign--_Nihil humanum_, etc. One loves wine, another women, a third cards. The artists have usurped all these things for themselves. Now kindly explain what I am."

"What you are. Why, an artist, without doubt, who on a first acquaintance will drink, storm public houses, shoot, borrow money--"

"And not repay it. Bravo! an admirable description. To justify your last remark and prove its truth beyond doubt, lend me a hundred roubles. I will never pay them back unless you and I should have exchanged our respective situations in life."

"You say that in jest?"

"Not at all. The market gardener, with whom I live, feeds me. He has no money, nor have I."

Raisky shrugged his shoulders, felt in his pockets, produced his pocket book and laid some notes on the table.

"You have counted wrong," said Mark. "There are only eighty here."

"I have no more money on me. My aunt keeps my money, and I will send you the balance to-morrow."

"Don't forget. This is enough for the moment and now I want to sleep."

"My bed is at your disposal, and I will sleep on the divan. You are my guest."

"I should be worse than a Tatar if I did that," murmured Mark, already half asleep. "Lie down on your bed. Anything will do for me."

In a few minutes he was sleeping the sleep of a tired, satisfied and drunken man worn out with cold and weariness. Raisky went to the window, raised the curtain, and looked out into the dark, starlit night. Now and then a flame hovered over the unemptied bowl, flared up and lighted up the room for a moment. There was a gentle tap on the door.

"Who is there?" he asked.

"I, Borushka. Open quickly. What are you doing there," said the anxious voice of Tatiana Markovna.

Raisky opened the door, and saw his aunt before him, like a white-clad ghost.

"What is going on here. I saw a light through the window, and thought you were asleep. What is burning in the bowl."

"Rum."

"Do you drink punch at night?" she whispered, looking first at him, then at the bowl in amazement.

"I am a sinner, Grandmother. Sometimes I drink."

"And who is lying there asleep?" she asked in new terror as she gazed on the sleeping Mark.

"Gently, Grandmother, don't wake him. It is Mark."

"Mark! Shall I send for the police! What have you to do with him? You have been drinking punch at night with Mark? What has come over you, Boris Pavlovich?"

"I found him at Leonti's, we were both hungry. So I brought him here and we had supper."

"Why didn't you call me. Who served you, and what did they bring you?"

"Marina did everything."

"A cold meal. Ah, Borushka, you shame me."

"We had plenty to eat."

"Plenty, without a single hot dish, without dessert. I will send up some preserves."

"No, no ... if you want anything, I can wake Mark and ask him."

"Good heavens! I am in my night-jacket," she whispered, and drew back to the door. "How he sleeps, all rolled up like a little dog. I am ashamed, Boris Pavlovich, as if we had no beds in the house. But put out the flames. No dessert!"

Raisky extinguished the blue flame and embraced the old lady. She made the sign of the Cross over him, looked round the room once more, and went out on tiptoe. Just as he was going to lie down again there was another tap on the door, he opened it immediately.

Marina entered, bearing a jar of preserves; then she brought a bed and two pillows. "The mistress sent them," she said.

Raisky laughed heartily, and was almost moved to tears.

CHAPTER X

Early in the morning a slight noise wakened Raisky, and he sat up to see Mark disappear through the window. He does not like the straight way, he thought, and stepped to the window. Mark was going through the park, and vanished under the thick trees on the top of the precipice. As he had no inclination to go to bed again, he put on a light overcoat and went down into the park too, thinking to bring Mark back, but he was already far below on the bank of the Volga. Raisky remained standing at the top of the precipice. The sun had not yet risen, but his rays were already gilding the hill tops, the dew covered fields were glistening in the distance, and the cool morning wind breathed freshness. The air grew rapidly warmer, giving promise of a hot day. Raisky walked on in the park, and the rain began to fall. The birds sang, as they darted in all directions seeking their morning meal, and the bees and the humble-bees hummed over the flowers. A feeling of discomfort came over Raisky. He had a long day before him, with the impressions of yesterday and the day before still strong upon him. He looked down on the unchanging prospect of smiling nature, the woods and the melancholy Volga, and felt the caress of the same cooling breeze. He went forward over the courtyard, taking no notice of the greetings of the servants or the friendly advances of the dogs.

He intended to go back to his room to turn the tenseness of his mood to account as an artistic motive in his novel; but as he hurried past the old house, he noticed that the door was half open, and went in. Since his arrival he had only been here for a moment with Marfinka, and had glanced into Vera's room. Now it occurred to him to make a closer inspection. Pa.s.sing through his old bedroom and two or three other rooms, he came into the corner room, then with an expression of extreme astonishment in his face he stood still.

Leaning on the window-sill, so that her profile was turned towards him, stood a girl of two or three and twenty, looking with strained curiosity, as if she were following some one with her eyes, down to the bank of the Volga. He was startled by the white, almost pallid face under the dark hair, the velvet-black eyes with their long lashes. Her face, still looking anxiously into the distance, gradually a.s.sumed an indifferent expression. The girl glanced hastily over park and courtyard, then as she turned and caught sight of him, shrank back.

"Sister Vera!" he cried.

Her face cleared, and her eyes remained fixed on him with an expression of modest curiosity, as he approached to kiss her.

She drew back almost imperceptibly, turning her head a little so that his lips touched her cheek, not her mouth, and they sat down opposite the window.

Impatient to hear her voice he began: "How eagerly I have expected you, and you have stayed away so long."

"Marina told me yesterday that you were here."

Her voice, though not so clear as Marfinka's, was still fresh and youthful.

"Grandmother wanted to send you word of my arrival, but I begged her not to tell you. When did you return? No one told me you were here."

"Yesterday, after supper. Grandmother and my sister don't know I am here yet. No one saw me but Marina."

She threw some white garments that lay beside her into the next room, pushed aside a bundle and brought a table to the window. Then she sat down again, with a manner quite unconstrained, as if she were alone.

"I have prepared coffee," she said. "Will you drink it with me. It will be a long time before it is ready at the other house. Marfinka gets up late."