itdifficult...."
"Never mind, never mind. Say: _Mein_."
"Me-in."
"_Zucker_."
"Tsook-ker."
"_Pueppchen! Pueppchen! Pueppchen!_"
"Poop ... poop.... That I can't manage. It doesn't sound nice."
"No! You must ... you must! Do you know what it means? That's the verynicest word for a young lady in German. I'll explain it to youafterwards. But here is auntie bringing us the samovar. Bravo! Bravo!auntie, I will have cream with my tea.... Is there any cream?"
"_So schweige doch_," answered the aunt.
IX
Kuzma Vassilyevitch stayed at Madame Fritsche's till midnight. He hadnot spent such a pleasant evening since his arrival at Nikolaev. It istrue that it occurred to him that it was not seemly for an officer anda gentleman to be associating with such persons as this native of Rigaand her auntie, but Emilie was so pretty, babbled so amusingly andbestowed such friendly looks upon him, that he dismissed his rank andfamily and made up his mind for once to enjoy himself. Only onecircumstance disturbed him and left an impression that was not quiteagreeable. When his conversation with Emilie and Madame Fritsche wasin full swing, the door from the lobby opened a crack and a man's handin a dark cuff with three tiny silver buttons on it was stealthilythrust in and stealthily laid a big bundle on the chair near the door.Both ladies instantly darted to the chair and began examining thebundle. "But these are the wrong spoons!" cried Emilie, but her auntnudged her with her elbow and carried away the bundle without tying upthe ends. It seemed to Kuzma Vassilyevitch that one end was spatteredwith something red, like blood.
"What is it?" he asked Emilie. "Is it some more stolen things returnedto you?"
"Yes," answered Emilie, as it were, reluctantly. "Some more."
"Was it your servant found them?"
Emilie frowned.
"What servant? We haven't any servant."
"Some other man, then?"
"No men come to see us."
"But excuse me, excuse me.... I saw the cuff of a man's coat orjacket. And, besides, this cap...."
"Men never, never come to see us," Emilie repeated emphatically. "Whatdid you see? You saw nothing! And that cap is mine."
"How is that?"
"Why, just that. I wear it for dressing up.... Yes, it is mine, _undPunctum_."
"Who brought you the bundle, then?"
Emilie made no answer and, pouting, followed Madame Fritsche out ofthe room. Ten minutes later she came back alone, without her aunt andwhen Kuzma Vassilyevitch tried to question her again, she gazed at hisforehead, said that it was disgraceful for a gentleman to be soinquisitive (as she said this, her face changed a little, as it were,darkened), and taking a pack of old cards from the card table drawer,asked him to tell fortunes for her and the king of hearts.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed, took the cards, and all evil thoughtsimmediately slipped out of his mind.
But they came back to him that very day. When he had got out of thegate into the street, had said good-bye to Emilie, shouted to her forthe last time, _"Adieu, Zuckerpueppchen!"_ a short man darted byhim and turning for a minute in his direction (it was past midnightbut the moon was shining rather brightly), displayed a lean gipsy facewith thick black eyebrows and moustache, black eyes and a hooked nose.The man at once rushed round the corner and it struck KuzmaVassilyevitch that he recognised--not his face, for he had never seenit before--but the cuff of his sleeve. Three silver buttons gleameddistinctly in the moonlight. There was a stir of uneasy perplexity inthe soul of the prudent lieutenant; when he got home he did not lightas usual his meerschaum pipe. Though, indeed, his sudden acquaintancewith charming Emilie and the agreeable hours spent in her companywould alone have induced his agitation.
X
Whatever Kuzma Vassilyevitch's apprehensions may have been, they werequickly dissipated and left no trace. He took to visiting the twoladies from Riga frequently. The susceptible lieutenant was soon onfriendly terms with Emilie. At first he was ashamed of theacquaintance and concealed his visits; later on he got over beingashamed and no longer concealed his visits; it ended by his being moreeager to spend his time with his new friends than with anyone andgreatly preferring their society to the cheerless solitude of his ownfour walls. Madame Fritsche herself no longer made the same unpleasantimpression upon him, though she still treated him morosely andungraciously. Persons in straitened circumstances like Madame Fritscheparticularly appreciate a liberal expenditure in their visitors, andKuzma Vassilyevitch was a little stingy and his presents for the mostpart took the shape of raisins, walnuts, cakes.... Only once he lethimself go and presented Emilie with a light pink fichu of real Frenchmaterial, and that very day she had burnt a hole in his gift with acandle. He began to upbraid her; she fixed the fichu to the cat'stail; he was angry; she laughed in his face. Kuzma Vassilyevitch wasforced at last to admit to himself that he had not only failed to winthe respect of the ladies from Riga, but had even failed to gain theirconfidence: he was never admitted at once, without preliminaryscrutinising; he was often kept waiting; sometimes he was sent awaywithout the slightest ceremony and when they wanted to concealsomething from him they would converse in German in his presence.Emilie gave him no account of her doings and replied to his questionsin an offhand way as though she had not heard them; and, worst of all,some of the rooms in Madame Fritsche's house, which was a fairly largeone, though it looked like a hovel from the street, were never openedto him. For all that, Kuzma Vassilyevitch did not give up his visits;on the contrary, he paid them more and more frequently: he was seeingliving people, anyway. His vanity was gratified by Emilie's continuingto call him Florestan, considering him exceptionally handsome anddeclaring that he had eyes like a bird of paradise, "_wie die Augeneines Paradiesvogels!_"
XI
One day in the very height of summer, Kuzma Vassilyevitch, who hadspent the whole morning in the sun with contractors and workmen,dragged himself tired and exhausted to the little gate that had becomeso familiar to him. He knocked and was admitted. He shambled into theso-called drawing-room and immediately lay down on the sofa. Emiliewent up to him and mopped his wet brow with a handkerchief.
"How tired he is, poor pet! How hot he is!" she said commiseratingly."Good gracious! You might at least unbutton your collar. My goodness,how your throat is pulsing!"
"I am done up, my dear," groaned Kuzma Vassilyevitch. "I've been on myfeet all the morning, in the baking sun. It's awful! I meant to gohome. But there those vipers, the contractors, would find me! Whilehere with you it is cool.... I believe I could have a nap."
"Well, why not? Go to sleep, my little chick; no one will disturb youhere." ...
"But I am really ashamed."
"What next! Why ashamed? Go to sleep. And I'll sing you ... what do youcall it? ... I'll sing you to bye-bye, _'Schlaf, mein Kindchen,Schlafe!'_" She began singing.
"I should like a drink of water first."
"Here is a glass of water for you. Fresh as crystal! Wait, I'll put apillow under your head.... And here is this to keep the flies off."
She covered his face with a handkerchief.
"Thank you, my little cupid.... I'll just have a tiny doze ... that'sall."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.
"_Schlaf, mein Kindchen, schlafe_," sang Emilie, swaying fromside to side and softly laughing at her song and her movements.
"What a big baby I have got!" she thought. "A boy!"
XII
An hour and a half later the lieutenant awoke. He fancied in his sleepthat someone touched him, bent over him, breathed over him. Hefumbled, and pulled off the kerchief. Emilie was on her knees closebeside him; the expression of her face struck him as queer. She jumpedup at once, walked away to the window and put something away in herpocket.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch stretched.
"I've had a good long snooze, it seems!" he observed, yawning. "Comehere, _meine zuesse Fraeulein_!"
Emilie went up to him. He sat
up quickly, thrust his hand into herpocket and took out a small pair of scissors.
"_Ach, Herr Je_!" Emilie could not help exclaiming.
"It's ... it's a pair of scissors?" muttered Kuzma Vassilyevitch.
"Why, of course. What did you think it was ... a pistol? Oh, how funnyyou look! You're as rumpled as a pillow and your hair is all standingup at the back.... And he doesn't laugh.... Oh, oh! And his eyes arepuffy.... Oh!"
Emilie went off into a giggle.
"Come, that's enough," muttered Kuzma Vassilyevitch, and he got upfrom the sofa. "That's enough giggling about nothing. If you can'tthink of anything more
Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories Page 17
