Whatever could have kept me so long with the princess? I gave no answer and went off to my room. Suddenly, I felt extremely depressed…I tried hard not to cry…I was jealous of the soldier!

5

The old princess, as she had promised, called on my mother who did not take to her. I was not present at their meeting, but at table my mother told my father that this Princess Zasyekin seemed to her ‘une femme très vulgaire’, that she had found her very tiresome, with her requests to do something for her with Prince Sergey; that she seemed to have endless lawsuits and affairs, ‘des vilaines affaires d’argent’, and that she must be a very troublesome woman. But my mother did add that she had asked her and her daughter to dinner next day (when I heard the words ‘and her daughter’ I buried my face in my plate) for she was, after all, a neighbour, and a titled one, too.

My father thereupon informed my mother that he now remembered who this lady was: that in his youth he had known the late Prince Zasyekin, a very well-bred, but empty and ridiculous man; he said that he was called ‘le Parisien’ in society because he had lived in Paris for a long time; that he had been very rich, but had gambled away all his property, and then, for no known reason – it might even have been for money, though he might, even so, have chosen better, my father added with a cold smile – he married the daughter of some minor official and, after his marriage, had begun to speculate in a large way, and had finally completely ruined himself.

‘I only hope she won’t try to borrow money,’ put in my mother.

‘That is quite possible,’ said my father calmly. ‘Does she speak French?’

‘Very badly.’

‘H’mm. Anyway, that does not matter. I think you said you had asked the daughter too? Somebody was telling me that she is a very charming and cultivated girl.’

‘Ah, she can’t take after her mother, then.’

‘No, nor after her father,’ my father said. ‘He was very cultivated too, but a fool.’

My mother sighed, and returned to her own thoughts. My father said no more. I felt very uncomfortable during this conversation.

After dinner, I went into the garden, but without a gun. I promised myself not to go near the Zasyekins’ garden, but an uncontrollable force drew me thither – and not in vain. I had hardly reached the fence when I saw Zinaida. This time she was alone. She was walking slowly along the path, holding a book in her hands. She did not notice me. I very nearly let her pass by, but suddenly collected myself, and coughed. She turned round, but did not stop. With her hand she pushed back the broad blue ribbon of her round straw hat, looked at me, smiled gently, and again turned her gaze to the book.

I took off my cap and after shuffling a little, walked away with a heavy heart. ‘Qus suis-je pour elle?’ I thought (goodness knows why) in French.

I heard familiar footsteps behind me. I looked round and saw my father walking towards me with his quick, light step. ‘Is that the young princess?’ he asked me.

‘It is.’

‘Why, do you know her?’

‘I saw her this morning in her mother’s house.’

My father stopped, and, turning sharply on his heel, went back. When he drew level with Zinaida, he bowed politely to her. She also bowed, though she looked a trifle surprised, and lowered her book. I saw how she followed him with her eyes. My father always dressed with great distinction, simply, and with a style of his own, but never did his figure seem to me more elegant, never did his grey hat sit more handsomely upon his curly hair that was scarcely touched by time. I made as if to move towards Zinaida, but she did not even glance at me. She raised her book again, and walked away.

6

I spent the whole of that evening and the following morning in a kind of dumb and frozen misery. I remember I tried to work and opened Kaidanov, but the broadly spaced lines and pages of the celebrated textbook flitted past my eyes in vain. Ten times over I read to myself the words ‘Julius Caesar was distinguished for military valour’, understood nothing, and threw the book aside.

Before dinner I carefully pomaded my hair again, and again put on my little frock-coat and neck-tie.

‘Why all this?’ asked my mother. ‘You are not at the university yet, and Heaven knows whether you will get through the examination.