sensible, I'll go home.... I'll go home," herepeated, seeing that she was still laughing.
Emilie subsided.
"Come, stay; I won't.... Only you must brush your hair."
"No, never mind.... Don't trouble. I'd better go," said KuzmaVassilyevitch, and he took up his cap.
Emilie pouted.
"Fie, how cross he is! A regular Russian! All Russians are cross. Nowhe is going. Fie! Yesterday he promised me five roubles and today hegives me nothing and goes away."
"I haven't any money on me," Kuzma Vassilyevitch muttered grumpily inthe doorway. "Good-bye."
Emilie looked after him and shook her finger.
"No money! Do you hear, do you hear what he says? Oh, what deceiversthese Russians are! But wait a bit, you pug.... Auntie, come here, Ihave something to tell you."
That evening as Kuzma Vassilyevitch was undressing to go to bed, henoticed that the upper edge of his leather belt had come unsewn forabout three inches. Like a careful man he at once procured a needleand thread, waxed the thread and stitched up the hole himself. Hepaid, however, no attention to this apparently trivial circumstance.
XIII
The whole of the next day Kuzma Vassilyevitch devoted to his officialduties; he did not leave the house even after dinner and right intothe night was scribbling and copying out his report to his superiorofficer, mercilessly disregarding the rules of spelling, alwaysputting an exclamation mark after the word _but_ and a semi-colonafter _however_. Next morning a barefoot Jewish boy in a tatteredgown brought him a letter from Emilie--the first letter that KuzmaVassilyevitch had received from her.
"Mein allerliebstep Florestan," she wrote to him, "can you really socross with your Zuckerpueppchen be that you came not yesterday? Pleasebe not cross if you wish not your merry Emilie to weep very bitterlyand come, be sure, at 5 o'clock to-day." (The figure 5 was surroundedwith two wreaths.) "I will be very, very glad. Your amiable Emilie."Kuzma Vassilyevitch was inwardly surprised at the accomplishments ofhis charmer, gave the Jew boy a copper coin and told him to say, "Verywell, I will come."
XIV
Kuzma Vassilyevitch kept his word: five o'clock had not struck when hewas standing before Madame Fritsche's gate. But to his surprise he didnot find Emilie at home; he was met by the lady of the house herselfwho--wonder of wonders!--dropping a preliminary curtsey, informed himthat Emilie had been obliged by unforeseen circumstances to go out butshe would soon be back and begged him to wait. Madame Fritsche had ona neat white cap; she smiled, spoke in an ingratiating voice andevidently tried to give an affable expression to her morosecountenance, which was, however, none the more prepossessing for that,but on the contrary acquired a positively sinister aspect.
"Sit down, sit down, sir," she said, putting an easy chair for him,"and we will offer you some refreshment if you will permit it."
Madame Fritsche made another curtsey, went out of the room andreturned shortly afterwards with a cup of chocolate on a small irontray. The chocolate turned out to be of dubious quality; KuzmaVassilyevitch drank the whole cup with relish, however, though he wasat a loss to explain why Madame Fritsche was suddenly so affable andwhat it all meant. For all that Emilie did not come back and he wasbeginning to lose patience and feel bored when all at once he heardthrough the wall the sounds of a guitar. First there was the sound ofone chord, then a second and a third and a fourth--the soundcontinually growing louder and fuller. Kuzma Vassilyevitch wassurprised: Emilie certainly had a guitar but it only had threestrings: he had not yet bought her any new ones; besides, Emilie wasnot at home. Who could it be? Again a chord was struck and so loudlythat it seemed as though it were in the room.... Kuzma Vassilyevitchturned round and almost cried out in a fright. Before him, in a lowdoorway which he had not till then noticed--a big cupboard screenedit--stood a strange figure ... neither a child nor a grown-up girl.She was wearing a white dress with a bright-coloured pattern on it andred shoes with high heels; her thick black hair, held together by agold fillet, fell like a cloak from her little head over her slenderbody. Her big eyes shone with sombre brilliance under the soft mass ofhair; her bare, dark-skinned arms were loaded with bracelets and herhands covered with rings, held a guitar. Her face was scarcelyvisible, it looked so small and dark; all that was seen was thecrimson of her lips and the outline of a straight and narrow nose.Kuzma Vassilyevitch stood for some time petrified and stared at thestrange creature without blinking; and she, too, gazed at him withoutstirring an eyelid. At last he recovered himself and moved with smallsteps towards her.
The dark face began gradually smiling. There was a sudden gleam ofwhite teeth, the little head was raised, and lightly flinging back thecurls, displayed itself in all its startling and delicate beauty.
"What little imp is this?" thought Kuzma Vassilyevitch, and, advancingstill closer, he brought out in a low voice:
"Hey, little image! Who are you?"
"Come here, come here," the "little image" responded in a rather huskyvoice, with a halting un-Russian intonation and incorrect accent, andshe stepped back two paces.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch followed her through the doorway and found himselfin a tiny room without windows, the walls and floor of which werecovered with thick camel's-hair rugs. He was overwhelmed by a strongsmell of musk. Two yellow wax candles were burning on a round table infront of a low sofa. In the corner stood a bedstead under a muslincanopy with silk stripes and a long amber rosary with a red tassle atthe end hung by the pillow.
"But excuse me, who are you?" repeated Kuzma Vassilyevitch.
"Sister ... sister of Emilie."
"You are her sister? And you live here?"
"Yes ... yes."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch wanted to touch "the image." She drew back.
"How is it she has never spoken of you?"
"Could not ... could not."
"You are in concealment then ... in hiding?"
"Yes."
"Are there reasons?"
"Reasons ... reasons."
"Hm!" Again Kuzma Vassilyevitch would have touched the figure, againshe stepped back. "So that's why I never saw you. I must own I neversuspected your existence. And the old lady, Madame Fritsche, is youraunt, too?"
"Yes ... aunt."
"Hm! You don't seem to understand Russian very well. What's your name,allow me to ask?"
"Colibri."
"What?"
"Colibri."
"Colibri! That's an out-of-the-way name! There are insects like thatin Africa, if I remember right?"
XV
Colibri gave a short, queer laugh ... like a clink of glass in herthroat. She shook her head, looked round, laid her guitar on the tableand going quickly to the door, abruptly shut it. She moved briskly andnimbly with a rapid, hardly audible sound like a lizard; at the backher hair fell below her knees.
"Why have you shut the door?" asked Kuzma Vassilyevitch.
Colibri put her fingers to her lips.
"Emilie ... not want ... not want her."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch grinned.
"I say, you are not jealous, are you?"
Colibri raised her eyebrows.
"What?"
"Jealous ... angry," Kuzma Vassilyevitch explained.
"Oh, yes!"
"Really! Much obliged.... I say, how old are you?"
"Seventen."
"Seventeen, you mean?"
"Yes."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch scrutinised his fantastic companion closely.
"What a beautiful creature you are!" he said, emphatically."Marvellous! Really marvellous! What hair! What eyes! And youreyebrows ... ough!"
Colibri laughed again and again looked round with her magnificenteyes.
"Yes, I am a beauty! Sit down, and I'll sit down ... beside."
"By all means! But say what you like, you are a strange sister forEmilie! You are not in the least like her."
"Yes, I am sister ... cousin. Here ... take ... a flower. A niceflower. It smells." She took out of her girdle a sprig of white lilac,sniffed it, bit off
a petal and gave him the whole sprig. "Will youhave jam? Nice jam ... from Constantinople ... sorbet?" Colibri tookfrom the small chest of drawers a gilt jar wrapped in a piece ofcrimson silk with steel spangles on it, a silver spoon, a cut glassdecanter and a tumbler like it. "Eat some sorbet, sir; it is fine. Iwill sing to you.... Will you?" She took up the guitar.
"You sing, then?" asked Kuzma Vassilyevitch, putting a spoonful ofreally excellent sorbet into his mouth.
"Oh, yes!" She flung back her mane of hair, put her head on one sideand struck several chords, looking carefully at the tips of herfingers and at the top of the guitar ... then suddenly began singingin a voice unexpectedly strong and
Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories Page 18
