Kollomietzev to be an enemy! Kollomietzev felt it too; he removed his monocle, turned away, and tried to laugh carelessly—but it did not come off somehow. Only Anna Zaharovna, who secretly worshipped him, was on his side, and became even angrier than before with the unwelcome neighbour separating her from Kolia.
Soon after this dinner came to an end. The company went out on the terrace to drink coffee. Sipiagin and Kollomietzev lit up cigars. Sipiagin offered Nejdanov a regalia, but the latter refused.
“Why, of course!” Sipiagin exclaimed; “I’ve forgotten that you only smoke your own particular cigarettes!
“A curious taste!” Kollomietzev muttered between his teeth.
Nejdanov very nearly burst out, “I know the difference between a regalia and a cigarette quite well, but I don’t want to be under an obligation to anyone!” but he contained himself and held his peace. He put down this second piece of insolence to his enemy’s account.
“Mariana!” Madame Sipiagin suddenly called, “don’t be on ceremony with our new friend … smoke your cigarette if you like. All the more so, as I hear,” she added, turning to Nejdanov, “that among you all young ladies smoke.”
“Yes,” Nejdanov remarked dryly. This was the first remark he had made to Madame Sipiagina.
“I don’t smoke,” she continued, screwing up her velvety eyes caressingly. “I suppose I am behind the times.”
Mariana slowly and carefully took out a cigarette, a box of matches, and began to smoke, as if on purpose to spite her aunt. Nejdanov took a light from Mariana and also began smoking.
It was a beautiful evening. Kolia and Anna Zaharovna went into the garden; the others remained for some time longer on the terrace enjoying the fresh air. The conversation was very lively. Kollomietzev condemned modern literature, and on this subject, too, Sipiagin showed himself a liberal. He insisted on the utter freedom and independence of literature, pointed out its uses, instanced Chateaubriand, whom the Emperor Alexander Pavlitch had invested with the order of St. Andrew! Nejdanov did not take part in the discussion; Madame Sipiagina watched him with an expression of approval and surprise at his modesty.
They all went in to drink tea in the drawing room.
“Alexai Dmitritch,” Sipiagin said to Nejdanov, “we are addicted to the bad habit of playing cards in the evening, and even play a forbidden game, stukushka. … I won’t ask you to join us, but perhaps Mariana will be good enough to play you something on the piano. You like music, I hope.” And without waiting for an answer Sipiagin took up a pack of cards. Mariana sat down at the piano and played, rather indifferently, several of Mendelssohn’s “Songs Without Words.” Charmant! Charmant! quel touché! Kollomietzev called out from the other end of the room, but the exclamation was only due to politeness, and Nejdanov, in spite of Sipiagin’s remark, showed no passion for music.
Meanwhile Sipiagin, his wife, Kollomietzev, and Anna Zaharovna sat down to cards. Kolia came to say goodnight, and, receiving his parents’ blessing and a large glass of milk instead of tea, went off to bed. His father called after him to inform him that tomorrow he was to begin his lessons with Alexai Dmitritch. A little later, seeing Nejdanov wandering aimlessly about the room and turning over the photographic albums, apparently without any interest, Sipiagin begged him not to be on ceremony and retire if he wished, as he was probably tired after the journey, and to remember that the ruling principle of their house was liberty.
Nejdanov took advantage of this and bowing to all present went out. In the doorway he knocked against Mariana, and, looking into her eyes, was convinced a second time that they would be comrades, although she showed no sign of pleasure at seeing him, but, on the contrary, frowned heavily.
When he went in, his room was filled with a sweet freshness; the windows had stood wide open all day. In the garden, opposite his window, a nightingale was trilling out its sweet song; the evening sky became covered with the warm glow of the rising moon behind the rounded tops of the lime trees. Nejdanov lit a candle; a grey moth fluttered in from the dark garden straight to the flame; she circled round it, whilst a gentle breeze from without blew on them both, disturbing the yellow-bluish flame of the candle.
“How strange!” Nejdanov thought, lying in bed; “they seem good, liberal-minded people, even humane … but I feel so troubled in my heart. This chamberlain. Kollomietzev. … However, morning is wiser than evening … It’s no good being sentimental.”
At this moment the watchman knocked loudly with his stick and called out, “I say there—”
“Take care,” answered another doleful voice. “Fugh! Heavens! It’s like being in prison!” Nejdanov exclaimed.
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