‘Dymov!’ she repeated, laying her head and hands on his chest. ‘It’s you! What took you so long? What?’

‘When could I get away, Mother? I’m always so busy and when I am free the train times are no good.’

‘But I’m so glad to see you. I dreamt of you all night long and I was afraid you might be ill. Oh, if only you knew how sweet you are – and you’ve come at just the right time! You’ll be my salvation. Only you can save me! Tomorrow’, she continued, laughing and tying her husband’s tie, ‘there’s going to be an amazing wedding here. The young telegraph clerk at the railway station, Chikildeyev, is getting married. A handsome young man and quite intelligent. And, do you know, there’s something so powerful, so bear-like about his face… I could paint him as a young Viking. All of us holiday-makers here are taking an interest in him and we’ve given him our word that we’ll be at his wedding… He doesn’t have much money, he’s got no family, he’s shy and it would be shameful not to offer him moral support. Just picture it – the wedding ceremony will be after the church service and then everyone will leave for the bride’s house… You see, there’ll be the woods, birdsong, patches of sunlight on the grass, and all of us will look like variegated patches against a green background. Highly original, in French Expressionist style! But what am I going to wear in church, Dymov?’ she added with a distressed look. ‘I’ve nothing here – literally nothing! No dress, no flowers, no gloves… You must save me. The fact you’ve arrived means the fates themselves have ordered you to rescue me. Now, take the keys, dear, go home and fetch my pink dress from the wardrobe. You remember, it’s hanging in front. And you’ll find two cardboard boxes on the pantry floor, to the right. If you open the top one you’ll find lots and lots of tulle and some bits and pieces… and underneath them some flowers. You must take the flowers out carefully – try not to crush them, darling! I’ll choose the ones I need later. And buy me some gloves.’

‘All right’, Dymov said. ‘I’ll go tomorrow and send them.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Olga said, looking at him in amazement. ‘Tomorrow you won’t have time – the first train leaves here at nine and the wedding’s at eleven! No, my darling, you must go today – today without fail! And if you can’t come yourself tomorrow, send the whole lot by special messenger. Hurry up, you must go now… the passenger train’s due any minute! Don’t miss it, darling!’

‘All right.’

‘Oh, I really don’t like letting you go’, Olga said and tears came to her eyes. ‘And why was I silly enough to promise that telegraph clerk?’

Dymov gulped his tea, grabbed a roll and went off to the station, gently smiling. The caviare, cheese and white salmon were eaten by the two dark men and the actor.

IV

On a tranquil moonlit night in July Olga was standing on the deck of a Volga steamboat, gazing now at the water, then at the beautiful banks. By her stood Ryabovsky: the black shadows on the water, he was telling her, were not shadows, but a fleeting vision. As one gazed at the magical water with its mysterious gleam, at the fathomless sky and those sad, brooding river banks that spoke of the vanity of our lives, of the existence of something loftier, of a world of everlasting bliss, one would be happy enough to swoon, to die, to become but a memory. The past was vulgar and drab, the future of no significance and that wonderful, unique night would soon come to an end and merge with eternity. Why live, then?

And now, as Olga listened to Ryabovsky’s voice, now to the stillness of the night, she fancied she was immortal and could never die. The turquoise water which she had never seen before, the sky, the river banks, the black shadows and that unaccountable joy that filled her heart – all these things told her that she would become a great artist and that somewhere, far beyond the horizon, far beyond this moonlit night, in the boundlessness of space, success, fame, people’s adulation awaited her… When she gazed long and unblinking into the distance she imagined she was seeing crowds, lights, hearing the sound of solemn music, cries of delight, herself in a white dress, and flowers being strewn on her from every side. She thought too that by her side, leaning his elbows on the rail, stood a truly great man, a genius, one of God’s elect… All that he had created up to now was beautiful, new and unusual, but what he would create in time, when his rare talent grew to maturity, would be breathtaking, something incalculably sublime – all this was clear from his face, from the way he expressed himself and in his attitude to Nature.