the wife and other stories-第22部分

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And　then　she　began　beseeching　him　to　love　her　and　not　to　cast　her　off；　to　have　pity　on　her　in　her　misery　and　her　wretchedness。　She　shed　tears；　kissed　his　hands；　insisted　on　his　swearing　that　he　loved　her；　told　him　that　without　her　good　influence　he　would　go　astray　and　be　ruined。　And；　when　she　had　spoilt　his　good…humour；　feeling　herself　humiliated；　she　would　drive　off　to　her　dressmaker　or　to　an　actress　of　her　acquaintance　to　try　and　get　theatre　tickets。

If　she　did　not　find　him　at　his　studio　she　left　a　letter　in　which　she　swore　that　if　he　did　not　come　to　see　her　that　day　she　would　poison　herself。　He　was　scared；　came　to　see　her；　and　stayed　to　dinner。　Regardless　of　her　husband's　presence；　he　would　say　rude　things　to　her；　and　she　would　answer　him　in　the　same　way。　Both　felt　they　were　a　burden　to　each　other；　that　they　were　tyrants　and　enemies；　and　were　wrathful；　and　in　their　wrath　did　not　notice　that　their　behaviour　was　unseemly；　and　that　even　Korostelev；　with　his　close…cropped　head；　saw　it　all。　After　dinner　Ryabovsky　made　haste　to　say　good…bye　and　get　away。

〃Where　are　you　off　to？〃　Olga　Ivanovna　would　ask　him　in　the　hall；　looking　at　him　with　hatred。

Scowling　and　screwing　up　his　eyes；　he　mentioned　some　lady　of　their　acquaintance；　and　it　was　evident　that　he　was　laughing　at　her　jealousy　and　wanted　to　annoy　her。　She　went　to　her　bedroom　and　lay　down　on　her　bed；　from　jealousy；　anger；　a　sense　of　humiliation　and　shame；　she　bit　the　pillow　and　began　sobbing　aloud。　Dymov　left　Korostelev　in　the　drawing…room；　went　into　the　bedroom；　and　with　a　desperate　and　embarrassed　face　said　softly：

〃Don't　cry　so　loud；　little　mother；　there's　no　need。　You　must　be　quiet　about　it。　You　must　not　let　people　see。　。　。　。　You　know　what　is　done　is　done；　and　can't　be　mended。〃

Not　knowing　how　to　ease　the　burden　of　her　jealousy；　which　actually　set　her　temples　throbbing　with　pain；　and　thinking　still　that　things　might　be　set　right；　she　would　wash；　powder　her　tear…stained　face；　and　fly　off　to　the　lady　mentioned。

Not　finding　Ryabovsky　with　her；　she　would　drive　off　to　a　second；　then　to　a　third。　At　first　she　was　ashamed　to　go　about　like　this；　but　afterwards　she　got　used　to　it；　and　it　would　happen　that　in　one　evening　she　would　make　the　round　of　all　her　female　acquaintances　in　search　of　Ryabovsky；　and　they　all　understood　it。

One　day　she　said　to　Ryabovsky　of　her　husband：

〃That　man　crushes　me　with　his　magnanimity。〃

This　phrase　pleased　her　so　much　that　when　she　met　the　artists　who　knew　of　her　affair　with　Ryabovsky　she　said　every　time　of　her　husband；　with　a　vigorous　movement　of　her　arm：

〃That　man　crushes　me　with　his　magnanimity。〃

Their　manner　of　life　was　the　same　as　it　had　been　the　year　before。　On　Wednesdays　they　were　〃At　Home〃；　an　actor　recited；　the　artists　sketched。　The　violoncellist　played；　a　singer　sang；　and　invariably　at　half…past　eleven　the　door　leading　to　the　dining…room　opened　and　Dymov；　smiling；　said：

〃Come　to　supper；　gentlemen。〃

As　before；　Olga　Ivanovna　hunted　celebrities；　found　them；　was　not　satisfied；　and　went　in　pursuit　of　fresh　ones。　As　before；　she　came　back　late　every　night；　but　now　Dymov　was　not；　as　last　year；　asleep；　but　sitting　in　his　study　at　work　of　some　sort。　He　went　to　bed　at　three　o'clock　and　got　up　at　eight。

One　evening　when　she　was　getting　ready　to　go　to　the　theatre　and　standing　before　the　pier　glass；　Dymov　came　into　her　bedroom；　wearing　his　dress…coat　and　a　white　tie。　He　was　smiling　gently　and　looked　into　his　wife's　face　joyfully；　as　in　old　days；　his　face　was　radiant。

〃I　have　just　been　defending　my　thesis；〃　he　said；　sitting　down　and　smoothing　his　knees。

〃Defending？〃　asked　Olga　Ivanovna。

〃Oh；　oh！〃　he　laughed；　and　he　craned　his　neck　to　see　his　wife's　face　in　the　mirror；　for　she　was　still　standing　with　her　back　to　him；　doing　up　her　hair。　〃Oh；　oh；〃　he　repeated；　〃do　you　know　it's　very　possible　they　may　offer　me　the　Readership　in　General　Pathology？　It　seems　like　it。〃

It　was　evident　from　his　beaming；　blissful　face　that　if　Olga　Ivanovna　had　shared　with　him　his　joy　and　triumph　he　would　have　forgiven　her　everything；　both　the　present　and　the　future；　and　would　have　forgotten　everything；　but　she　did　not　understand　what　was　meant　by　a　〃readership〃　or　by　〃general　pathology〃；　besides；　she　was　afraid　of　being　late　for　the　theatre；　and　she　said　nothing。

He　sat　there　another　two　minutes；　and　with　a　guilty　smile　went　away。

VII

It　had　been　a　very　troubled　day。

Dymov　had　a　very　bad　headache；　he　had　no　breakfast；　and　did　not　go　to　the　hospital；　but　spent　the　whole　time　lying　on　his　sofa　in　the　study。　Olga　Ivanovna　went　as　usual　at　midday　to　see　Ryabovsky；　to　show　him　her　still…life　sketch；　and　to　ask　him　why　he　had　not　been　to　see　her　the　evening　before。　The　sketch　seemed　to　her　worthless；　and　she　had　painted　it　only　in　order　to　have　an　additional　reason　for　going　to　the　artist。

She　went　in　to　him　without　ringing；　and　as　she　was　taking　off　her　goloshes　in　the　entry　she　heard　a　sound　as　of　something　running　softly　in　the　studio；　with　a　feminine　rustle　of　skirts；　and　as　she　hastened　to　peep　in　she　caught　a　momentary　glimpse　of　a　bit　of　brown　petticoat；　which　vanished　behind　a　big　picture　draped；　together　with　the　easel；　with　black　calico；　to　the　floor。　There　could　be　no　doubt　that　a　woman　was　hiding　there。　How　often　Olga　Ivanovna　herself　had　taken　refuge　behind　that　picture！

Ryabovsky；　evidently　much　embarrassed；　held　out　both　hands　to　her；　as　though　surprised　at　her　arrival；　and　said　with　a　forced　smile：

〃Aha！　Very　glad　to　see　you！　Anything　nice　to　tell　me？〃

Olga　Ivanovna's　eyes　filled　with　tears。　She　felt　ashamed　and　bitter；　and　would　not　for　a　million　roubles　have　consented　to　speak　in　the　presence　of　the　outsider；　the　rival；　the　deceitful　woman　who　was　standing　now　behind　the　picture；　and　probably　giggling　malignantly。

〃I　have　brought　you　a　sketch；〃　she　said　timidly　in　a　thin　voice；　and　her　lips　quivered。　〃_Nature　morte。_〃

〃Ahah！　。　。　。　A　sketch？〃

The　artist　took　the　sketch　in　his　hands；　and　as　he　examined　it　w　alked；　as　it　were　mechanically；　into　the　other　room。

Olga　Ivanovna　followed　him　humbly。

〃_Nature　morte_　。　。　。　first…rate　sort；〃　he　muttered；　falling　into　rhyme。　〃Kurort　。　。　。　sport　。　。　。　port　。　。　。〃

From　the　studio　came　the　sound　of　hurried　footsteps　and　the　rustle　of　a　skirt。

So　she　had　gone。　Olga　Ivanovna　wanted　to　scream　aloud；　to　hit　the　artist　on　the　head　with　something　heavy；　but　she　could　see　nothing　through　her　tears；　was　crushed　by　her　shame；　and　felt　herself；　not　Olga　Ivanovna；　not　an　artist；　but　a　little　insect。

〃I　am　tired　。　。　。〃　said　the　artist　languidly；　looking　at　the　sketch　and　tossing　his　head　as　though　struggling　with　drowsiness。　〃It's　very　nice；　of　course；　but　here　a　sketch　today；　a　sketch　last　year；　another　sketch　in　a　month　。　。　。　I　wonder　you　are　not　bored　with　them。　If　I　were　you　I　should　give　up　painting　and　work　seriously　at　music　or　something。　You're　not　an　artist；　you　know；　but　a　musician。　But　you　can't　think　how　tired　I　am！　I'll　tell　them　to　bring　us　some　tea；　shall　I？〃

He　went　out　of　the　room；　and　Olga　Ivanovna　heard　him　give　some　order　to　his　footman。　To　avoid　farewells　and　explanations；　and　above　all　to　avoid　bursting　into　sobs；　she　ran　as　fast