Sanine by Mikhail Artsybashev (ebook pdf reader for pc .TXT) 📕

indeed!” cried Lialia, mockingly. “Ha! Ha!” She pretended to slap him. “Ha! Ha!”

Yourii did not perceive that he had already recovered his good humour. Lialia’s merry voice and her joy of living had speedily banished his depression which he had imagined to be very real and deep. Lialia did not believe in his melancholy, and therefore his remarks caused her no concern.

Yourii looked at her, and said with a smile.

“I am never merry.”

At this Lialia laughed, as though he had said something vastly droll.

“Very well, Knight of the Rueful Countenance, if you aren’t you aren’t. Never mind, come with me, and I will introduce you to a charming young man. Come!”

So saying she took her brother’s hand, and laughingly led him along.

“Stop! Who is this charming young man?”

“My fiancé,” cried Lialia, as, joyful and confused, she twisted sharply round so that her gown was puffed out. Yourii knew already, from his father’s and sister’s letters, that a young doctor recently established in the town had been paying court to Lialia, but he was not aware that their engagement was a fait accompli.

“You don’t say so?” said he, in amazement. It seemed to him so strange that pretty, fresh-looking little Lialia, almost a child, should already have a lover, and should soon become a bride⁠—a wife. It touched him to a vague sense of pity for his sister. Yourii put his arm round Lialia’s waist and went with her into the dining-room where in the lamplight shone the large, highly polished samovar. At the table, by the side of Nicolai Yegorovitch sat a well-built young man, not Russian in type, with bronzed features and keen bright eyes.

He rose in simple, friendly fashion to meet Yourii.

“Introduce me.”

“Anatole Pavlovitch Riasantzeff!” cried Lialia, with a gesture of comic solemnity.

“Who craves your friendship and indulgence,” added Riasantzeff, joking in his turn.

With a sincere wish to become friends, the two shook hands. For a moment it seemed as if they would embrace, but they refrained, merely exchanging frank, amicable glances.

“So this is her brother, is it?” thought Riasantzeff, in surprise, for he had imagined that a brother of Lialia, short, fair, and merry, would be short, fair and merry too. Yourii, on the contrary was tall, thin and dark, though as good-looking as Lialia, and with the same regular features.

And, as Yourii looked at Riasantzeff, he thought to himself: “So this is the man who in my little sister Lialia, as fresh and fair as a spring morning, loves the woman; loves her just as I myself have loved women.” Somehow, it hurt him to look at Lialia and Riasantzeff, as if he feared that they would read his thoughts.

The two men felt that they had much that was important to say to each other. Yourii would have liked to ask:

“Do you love Lialia? Really and truly? It would be sad, and indeed shameful, if you were to betray her; she’s so pure, so innocent!”

And Riasantzeff would have liked to answer:

“Yes, I love your sister deeply; who could do anything else but love her? Look how pure and sweet, and charming she is; how fond she is of me; and what a pretty dimple she’s got!”

But instead of all this, Yourii said nothing, and Riasantzeff asked:

“Have you been expelled for long?”

“For five years,” was Yourii’s answer.

At these words Nicolai Yegorovitch, who was pacing up and down the room, stopped for a moment and then, recollecting himself, he continued his walk with the regular, precise steps of an old soldier. As yet he was ignorant of the details of his son’s exile, and this unexpected news came as a shock.

“What the devil does it all mean?” he muttered to himself.

Lialia understood this movement of her father’s. She was afraid of scenes, and tried to change the conversation.

“How foolish of me,” she thought, “not to have remembered to tell Anatole!”

But Riasantzeff did not know the real facts, and, replying to Lialia’s invitation to have some tea, he again began to question Yourii.

“And what do you think of doing now?”

Nicolai Yegorovitch frowned, and said nothing. Yourii at once knew what his father’s silence meant; and before he had reflected upon the consequences of such an answer he replied, defiantly and with irritation,

“Nothing for the moment.”

“How do you mean⁠—nothing?” asked Nicolai Yegorovitch, stopping short. He had not raised his voice, but its tone clearly conveyed a hidden reproach.

“How can you say such a thing? As if I were obliged always to have you round my neck! How can you forget that I am old, and that it is high time that you earned your own living? I say nothing. Live as you like! But can’t you yourself understand?” The tone implied all this. And the more it made Yourii feel that his father was right in thinking as he did, the more he took offence.

“Yes, nothing! What do you expect me to do?” he asked provocatively.

Nicolai Yegorovitch was about to make a cutting retort, but said nothing, merely shrugging his shoulders and with measured tread resuming his march from one corner of the room to the other. He was too well-bred to wrangle with his son on the very day of his arrival. Yourii watched him with flashing eyes, being hardly able to control himself and ready on the slightest chance to open the quarrel. Lialia was almost in tears. She glanced imploringly from her brother to her father. Riasantzeff at last understood the situation, and he felt so sorry for Lialia, that, clumsily enough, he turned the talk into another channel.

Slowly, tediously, the evening passed. Yourii would not admit that he was blameworthy, for he did not agree with his father that politics were no part of his business. He considered that his father was incapable of understanding the simplest things, being old and void of intelligence. Unconsciously he blamed him for his old age and his antiquated ideas: they enraged him. The topics touched upon by Riasantzeff did not interest him. He scarcely listened, but steadily watched his