We shall have to pretend to be friends for a few days. Good-bye.”

And we parted as though nothing had happened. Returning to the Commandant’s I sat down, as usual, by Marya Ivanovna. Ivan Kuzmich was not at home; Vasilisa Yegorovna was busy with household matters. We spoke in undertones. Marya Ivanovna tenderly reproached me for the anxiety I had caused everyone by my quarrel with Shvabrin.

“I was quite overcome,” she said, “when I heard you were going to fight. How strange men are! Because of a single word which they would be sure to forget in a week’s time they are ready to kill each other and to sacrifice their lives and their conscience and the welfare of those who … But I am sure you did not begin the quarrel. Alexy Ivanych is probably to blame.”

“And why do you think so, Marya Ivanovna?”

“Oh, I don’t know … he always jeers at people. I don’t like Alexey Ivanych. He repels me and yet, strange to say, I would not, on any account, have him dislike me also. That would worry me dreadfully.”

“And what do you think, Marya Ivanovna? Does he like you?”

Marya Ivanovna stammered and blushed.

“I think …” she said, “I believe he does like me.”

“And why do you believe it?”

“Because he made me an offer of marriage.”

“He made you an offer of marriage? When?”

“Last year. Some two months before you came.”

“And you refused?”

“As you see. Of course, Alexey Ivanych is clever and rich, and of good family; but when I think that in church I should have to kiss him before all the people … not for anything! Nothing would induce me!”

Marya Ivanovna’s words opened my eyes and explained a great deal to me. I understood the persistent slanders with which he pursued her. The words that gave rise to our quarrel seemed to me all the more vile when, instead of coarse and unseemly mockery, I saw in them deliberate calumny. My desire to punish the impudent slanderer grew more intense, and I waited impatiently for an opportunity.

I did not have to wait long. The following day as I sat composing an elegy, biting my pen as I searched for a rhyme, Shvabrin knocked at my window. I left my pen, picked up my sword, and went out to him.

“Why wait?” Shvabrin said. “We are not watched. Let us go down to the river. No one will disturb us there.”

We walked in silence. Descending by a steep path we stopped at a river bank and bared our swords. Shvabrin was more skilled than I, but I was stronger and more daring; Monsieur Beaupré, who had once been a soldier, had given me a few lessons in fencing and I made use of them. Shvabrin had not expected to find in me so formidable an opponent. For a time we could neither of us do the other any harm; at last, observing that Shvabrin was weakening, I began to press him and almost drove him into the river. Suddenly I heard someone loudly calling my name. I turned round and saw Savelyich running toward me down the steep path … at that moment I felt a stab in my breast under the right shoulder, and fell down senseless.

V
LOVE

Ah, you young maiden, you maiden fair!

You must not marry while still so young

You must ask your father and mother first,

Your father and mother and all your kin.

You must grow in wisdom and keen good sense,

Must save up for yourself a rich dowry.

A FOLK SONG

If you find one better than me—you’ll forget me,

If one who is worse—you’ll remember.

A FOLK SONG

WHEN I REGAINED consciousness I could not grasp for a few minutes where I was, and what had happened to me. I was lying on a bed in a strange room, feeling very weak. Savelyich was standing before me with a candle in his hand. Someone was carefully unwrapping the bandages round my chest and shoulder.