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‘You don’t understand what you’re babbling there yourself! You’re drunk,’ said Fustov, taking his overcoat from the wall. ‘He’s swindled some fool of his money, and now he’s telling all sorts of lies!’

Viktor continued reclining on the sofa, and merely swung his legs, which were hanging over its arm.

‘Swindled! Why did you drink the wine, then? It was paid for with the money I won, you know. As for lies, I’ve no need for lying. It’s not my fault that in her past Susanna Ivanovna…’

‘Hold your tongue!’ Fustov shouted at him, ‘hold your tongue… or…’

‘Or what?’

‘You’ll find out what. Come along, Piotr.’

‘Aha!’ pursued Viktor; ‘our noble-hearted knight takes refuge in flight. He doesn’t care to hear the truth, that’s evident! It stings–the truth does, it seems!’

‘Come along, Piotr,’ Fustov repeated, completely losing his habitual coolness and self-possession.

‘Let’s leave this wretch of a boy!’

‘The boy’s not afraid of you, do you hear,’ Viktor shouted after us, ‘he despises you, the boy does! Do you hear!’

Fustov walked so quickly along the street that I had difficulty in keeping up with him. All at once he stopped short and turned sharply back.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I must find out what the idiot…. He’s drunk, no doubt, God knows what…. Only don’t you follow me… we shall see each other to-morrow. Good-bye!’

And hurriedly pressing my hand, Fustov set off towards Yar’s hotel.

Next day I missed seeing Fustov; and on the day after that, on going to his rooms, I learned that he had gone into the country to his uncle’s, near Moscow. I inquired if he had left no note for me, but no note was forth-coming. Then I asked the servant whether he knew how long Alexander Daviditch would be away in the country. ‘A fortnight, or a little more, probably,’ replied the man. I took at any rate Fustov’s exact address, and sauntered home, meditating deeply. This unexpected absence from Moscow, in the winter, completed my utter perplexity. My good aunt observed to me at dinner that I seemed continually expecting something, and gazed at the cabbage pie as though I were beholding it for the first time in my life. ‘Pierre, vous n’etes pas amoureux?’ she cried at last, having previously got rid of her companions. But I reassured her: no, I was not in love.

XVI

Three days passed. I had a secret prompting to go to the Ratschs’. I fancied that in their house I should be sure to find a solution of all that absorbed my mind, that I could not make out…. But I should have had to meet the veteran…. That thought pulled me up. One tempestuous evening–the February wind was howling angrily outside, the frozen snow tapped at the window from time to time like coarse sand flung by a mighty hand–I was sitting in my room, trying to read. My servant came, and, with a mysterious air, announced that a lady wished to see me. I was surprised… ladies did not visit me, especially at such a late hour; however, I told him to show her in. The door opened and with swift step there walked in a woman, muffled up in a light summer cloak and a yellow shawl. Abruptly she cast off the cloak and the shawl, which were covered with snow, and I saw standing before me Susanna. I was so astonished that I did not utter a word, while she went up to the window, and leaning her shoulder against the wall, remained motionless; only her bosom heaved convulsively and her eyes moved restlessly, and the breath came with a faint moan from her white lips. I realised that it was no slight trouble that had brought her to me; I realised, for all my youth and shallowness, that at that instant before my eyes the fate of a whole life was being decided–a bitter and terrible fate.