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The Duellist
by
‘Well,’ Kister questioned his friend next day, ‘do you like the Perekatovs? Was I right? eh? Tell me.’
Lutchkov did not answer.
‘No, do tell me, do tell me!’
‘Really, I don’t know.’
‘Nonsense, come now!’
‘That… what’s her name… Mashenka’s all right; not bad-looking.’
‘There, you see…’ said Kister–and he said no more.
Five days later Lutchkov of his own accord suggested that they should call on the Perekatovs.
Alone he would not have gone to see them; in Fyodor Fedoritch’s absence he would have had to keep up a conversation, and that he could not do, and as far as possible avoided.
On the second visit of the two friends, Masha was much more at her ease. She was by now secretly glad that she had not disturbed her mamma by an uninvited avowal. Before dinner, Avdey had offered to try a young horse, not yet broken in, and, in spite of its frantic rearing, he mastered it completely. In the evening he thawed, and fell into joking and laughing–and though he soon pulled himself up, yet he had succeeded in making a momentary unpleasant impression on Masha. She could not yet be sure herself what the feeling exactly was that Lutchkov excited in her, but everything she did not like in him she set down to the influence of misfortune, of loneliness.
V
The friends began to pay frequent visits to the Perekatovs’. Kister’s position became more and more painful. He did not regret his action… no, but he desired at least to cut short the time of his trial. His devotion to Masha increased daily; she too felt warmly towards him; but to be nothing more than a go-between, a confidant, a friend even–it’s a dreary, thankless business! Coldly idealistic people talk a great deal about the sacredness of suffering, the bliss of suffering… but to Kister’s warm and simple heart his sufferings were not a source of any bliss whatever. At last, one day, when Lutchkov, ready dressed, came to fetch him, and the carriage was waiting at the steps, Fyodor Fedoritch, to the astonishment of his friend, announced point-blank that he should stay at home. Lutchkov entreated him, was vexed and angry… Kister pleaded a headache. Lutchkov set off alone.
The bully had changed in many ways of late. He left his comrades in peace, did not annoy the novices, and though his spirit had not ‘blossomed out,’ as Kister had foretold, yet he certainly had toned down a little. He could not have been called ‘disillusioned’ before–he had seen and experienced almost nothing–and so it is not surprising that Masha engrossed his thoughts. His heart was not touched though; only his spleen was satisfied. Masha’s feelings for him were of a strange kind. She almost never looked him straight in the face; she could not talk to him…. When they happened to be left alone together, Masha felt horribly awkward. She took him for an exceptional man, and felt overawed by him and agitated in his presence, fancied she did not understand him, and was unworthy of his confidence; miserably, drearily–but continually–she thought of him. Kister’s society, on the contrary, soothed her and put her in a good humour, though it neither overjoyed nor excited her. With him she could chatter away for hours together, leaning on his arm, as though he were her brother, looking affectionately into his face, and laughing with his laughter–and she rarely thought of him. In Lutchkov there was something enigmatic for the young girl; she felt that his soul was ‘dark as a forest,’ and strained every effort to penetrate into that mysterious gloom…. So children stare a long while into a deep well, till at last they make out at the very bottom the still, black water.
On Lutchkov’s coming into the drawing-room alone, Masha was at first scared… but then she felt delighted. She had more than once fancied that there existed some sort of misunderstanding between Lutchkov and her, that he had not hitherto had a chance of revealing himself. Lutchkov mentioned the cause of Kister’s absence; the parents expressed their regret, but Masha looked incredulously at Avdey, and felt faint with expectation. After dinner they were left alone; Masha did not know what to say, she sat down to the piano; her fingers flitted hurriedly and tremblingly over the keys; she was continually stopping and waiting for the first word… Lutchkov did not understand nor care for music. Masha began talking to him about Rossini (Rossini was at that time just coming into fashion) and about Mozart…. Avdey Ivanovitch responded: ‘Quite so,’ ‘by no means,’ ‘beautiful,’ ‘indeed,’ and that was all. Masha played some brilliant variations on one of Rossini’s airs. Lutchkov listened and listened… and when at last she turned to him, his face expressed such unfeigned boredom, that Masha jumped up at once and closed the piano. She went up to the window, and for a long while stared into the garden; Lutchkov did not stir from his seat, and still remained silent. Impatience began to take the place of timidity in Masha’s soul. ‘What is it?’ she wondered, ‘won’t you… or can’t you?’ It was Lutchkov’s turn to feel shy. He was conscious again of his miserable, overwhelming diffidence; already he was raging!… ‘It was the devil’s own notion to have anything to do with the wretched girl,’ he muttered to himself…. And all the while how easy it was to touch Masha’s heart at that instant! Whatever had been said by such an extraordinary though eccentric man, as she imagined Lutchkov, she would have understood everything, have excused anything, have believed anything…. But this burdensome, stupid silence! Tears of vexation were standing in her eyes. ‘If he doesn’t want to be open, if I am really not worthy of his confidence, why does he go on coming to see us? Or perhaps it is that I don’t set the right way to work to make him reveal himself?’… And she turned swiftly round, and glanced so inquiringly, so searchingly at him, that he could not fail to understand her glance, and could not keep silence any longer….