Short Fiction by Anton Chekhov (libby ebook reader .txt) 📕

She began to be hysterical.

“What’s the meaning of it?” muttered the old woman in horror. “Why, he wrote the day before yesterday that he never leaves the flat! Where is he sleeping? Holy Saints!”

Nadyezhda Filippovna felt so faint that she could not take off her hat. She looked about her blankly, as though she had been drugged, and convulsively clutched at her mother’s arms.

“What a person to trust: a porter!” said the old lady, fussing round her daughter and crying. “What a jealous girl you are! He is not going to deceive you, and how dare he? We are not just anybody. Though we are of the merchant class, yet he has no right, for you are his lawful wife! We can take proceedings! I gave twenty thousand roubles with you! You did not want for a dowry!”

And the old lady herself sobbed and gesticulated, and she felt faint, too, and lay down on her trunk. Neither of them noticed that patches of blue had made their appearance in the sky, that the clouds were more transparent, that the first sunbeam was cautiously gliding over the wet grass in the garden, that with renewed gaiety the sparrows were hopping about the puddles which reflected the racing clouds.

Towards evening Kvashin arrived. Before leaving town he had gone to his flat and had learned from the porter that his wife had come in his absence.

“Here I am,” he said gaily, coming into his mother-in-law’s room and pretending not to notice their stern and tear-stained faces. “Here I am! It’s five days since we have seen each other!”

He rapidly kissed his wife’s hand and his mother-in-law’s, and with the air of man delighted at having finished a difficult task, he lolled in an armchair.

“Ough!” he said, puffing out all the air from his lungs. “Here I have been worried to death. I have scarcely sat down. For almost five days now I have been, as it were, bivouacking. I haven’t been to the flat once, would you believe it? I have been busy the whole time with the meeting of Shipunov’s and Ivantchikov’s creditors; I had to work in Galdeyev’s office at the shop.⁠ ⁠… I’ve had nothing to eat or to drink, and slept on a bench, I was chilled through.⁠ ⁠… I hadn’t a free minute. I hadn’t even time to go to the flat. That’s how I came not to be at home, Nadyusha,⁠ ⁠…”

And Kvashin, holding his sides as though his back were aching, glanced stealthily at his wife and mother-in-law to see the effect of his lie, or as he called it, diplomacy. The mother-in-law and wife were looking at each other in joyful astonishment, as though beyond all hope and expectation they had found something precious, which they had lost.⁠ ⁠… Their faces beamed, their eyes glowed.⁠ ⁠…

“My dear man,” cried the old lady, jumping up, “why am I sitting here? Tea! Tea at once! Perhaps you are hungry?”

“Of course he is hungry,” cried his wife, pulling off her head a bandage soaked in vinegar. “Mamma, bring the wine, and the savouries. Natalya, lay the table! Oh, my goodness, nothing is ready!”

And both of them, frightened, happy, and bustling, ran about the room. The old lady could not look without laughing at her daughter who had slandered an innocent man, and the daughter felt ashamed.⁠ ⁠…

The table was soon laid. Kvashin, who smelt of madeira and liqueurs and who could scarcely breathe from repletion, complained of being hungry, forced himself to munch and kept on talking of the meeting of Shipunov’s and Ivantchikov’s creditors, while his wife and mother-in-law could not take their eyes off his face, and both thought:

“How clever and kind he is! How handsome!”

“All serene,” thought Kvashin, as he lay down on the well-filled feather bed. “Though they are regular tradesmen’s wives, though they are Philistines, yet they have a charm of their own, and one can spend a day or two of the week here with enjoyment.⁠ ⁠…”

He wrapped himself up, got warm, and as he dozed off, he said to himself:

“All serene!”

“Pavel Vassilyevitch, there’s a lady here, asking for you,” Luka announced. “She’s been waiting a good hour.⁠ ⁠…”

Pavel Vassilyevitch had only just finished lunch. Hearing of the lady, he frowned and said:

“Oh, damn her! Tell her I’m busy.”

“She has been here five times already, Pavel Vassilyevitch. She says she really must see you.⁠ ⁠… She’s almost crying.”

“H’m⁠ ⁠… very well, then, ask her into the study.”

Without haste Pavel Vassilyevitch put on his coat, took a pen in one hand, and a book in the other, and trying to look as though he were very busy he went into the study. There the visitor was awaiting him⁠—a large stout lady with a red, beefy face, in spectacles. She looked very respectable, and her dress was more than fashionable (she had on a crinolette of four storeys and a high hat with a reddish bird in it). On seeing him she turned up her eyes and folded her hands in supplication.

“You don’t remember me, of course,” she began in a high masculine tenor, visibly agitated. “I⁠ ⁠… I have had the pleasure of meeting you at the Hrutskys.⁠ ⁠… I am Mme. Murashkin.⁠ ⁠…”

“A⁠ ⁠… a⁠ ⁠… a⁠ ⁠… h’m⁠ ⁠… Sit down! What can I do for you?”

“You⁠ ⁠… you see⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠…” the lady went on, sitting down and becoming still more agitated. “You don’t remember me.⁠ ⁠… I’m Mme. Murashkin.⁠ ⁠… You see I’m a great admirer of your talent and always read your articles with great enjoyment.⁠ ⁠… Don’t imagine I’m flattering you⁠—God forbid!⁠—I’m only giving honour where honour is due.⁠ ⁠… I am always reading you⁠ ⁠… always! To some extent I am myself not a stranger to literature⁠—that is, of course⁠ ⁠… I will not venture to call myself an authoress, but⁠ ⁠… still I have added my little quota⁠ ⁠… I have published at different times three stories for children.⁠ ⁠… You have not read them, of course.⁠ ⁠… I have translated a good deal and⁠ ⁠… and my late brother