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... ting telegrams to notify the fact of
her death."
"Ah, then of course their interests centre around her. It is a
question of succession. Let that but be settled, and the General
will marry, Mlle. Polina will be set free, and De Griers--"
"Yes, and De Griers?"
"Will be repaid his money, which is what he is now waiting for."
"What? You think that he is waiting for that?"
"I know of nothing else," asserted Mr. Astley doggedly.
"But, I do, I do!" I shouted in my fury. "He is waiting also
for the old woman's will, for the reason that it awards Mlle.
Polina a dowry. As soon as ever the money is received, she will
throw herself upon the Frenchman's neck. All women are like
that. Even the proudest of them become abject slaves where
marriage is concerned. What Polina is good for is to fall head
over ears in love. That is MY opinion. Look at her--especially
when she is sitting alone, and plunged in thought.
All this was
pre-ordained and foretold, and is accursed. Polina could
perpetrate any mad act. camisoles She--she--But who called me by name?" I
broke off. "Who is shouting for me? I heard some one calling in
Russian, 'Alexis Ivanovitch!' It was a woman's voice. Listen!"
At the moment, we were approaching my hotel. We had left the cafe
long ago, without even noticing that we had done so.
"Yes, I DID hear a woman's voice calling, but whose I do not
know. The someone was calling you in Russian. Ah! NOW I can see
whence the cries come. They come from that lady there--the one
who is sitting on the settee, the one who has just been escorted
to the verandah by a crowd of lacqueys. Behind her see that pile
of luggage! She must have arrived by train."
"But why should she be calling ME? Hear her calling again! See!
She is beckoning to us!"
"Yes, so she is," assented Mr.
Astley.
"Alexis Ivanovitch, Alexis Ivanovitch! Good heavens, what a
stupid fellow!" came in a despairing wail from the verandah.
We had almost reached the portico, and I was just setting foot
upon the space before it, when my hands fell to my sides in limp
astonishment, and my feet glued themselves to the pavement!
IX
For on the topmost tier of the hotel verandah, after being
carried up the steps in an armchair amid a bevy of footmen,
maid-servants, and other menials of the hotel, headed by the
landlord (that functionary had actually run out to meet a
visitor who arrived with so much stir and din, attended by her
own retinue, and accompanied by so great a pile of trunks and
portmanteaux)--on the topmost tier of the verandah, I say, there
was sitting--THE GRANDMOTHER! Yes, it was she--rich, and imposing,
and seventy-five years of age--Antonida Vassilievna Tarassevitcha,
landowner and grande dame of Moscow--the "La Baboulenka" who had
caused so many telegrams to be sent off and received--who had been
dying, yet not dying--who had, in her own person, descended upon
us even as snow might fall from the clouds! Though unable to walk,
she had arrived borne aloft in an armchair (her mode of conveyance
for the last five years), as brisk, aggressive, self-satisfied,
bolt-upright, loudly imperious, and generally abusive as ever.
In fact, she looked exactly as she had on the only two
occasions when I had seen her since my appointment to the
General's household. Naturally enough, I stood petrified with
astonishment. She had sighted me a hundred paces off! Even while
she was being carried along in her chair she had recognised me,
and called me by name and surname (which, as usual, after
hearing once, she had remembered ever afterwards).
"And this is the woman whom they had thought to see in her
grave after making her will!" I thought to myself. "Yet she
will outlive us, and every one else in the hotel. Good Lord!
what is going to become of us now? What on earth is to happen to
the General? She will turn the place upside down!"
"My good sir," the old woman continued in a stentorian voice,
"what are you standing THERE for, with your eyes almost falling
out of your head? Cannot you come and say how-do-you-do? Are you
too proud to shake hands? Or do you not recognise me? Here,
Potapitch!" she cried to an old servant who, dressed camisoles in a frock
coat and white waistcoat, had a bald, red head (he was the
chamberlain who always accompanied her on her journeys). "Just
think! Alexis Ivanovitch does not recognise me! They have buried
me for good and all! Yes, and after sending hosts of telegrams
to know if I were dead camisoles or not! Yes, yes, I have heard the whole
story. I am very much alive, though, as you may see."
"Pardon me, Antonida Vassilievna," I replied good humouredly as
I recovered my presence of mind. "I have no reason to wish you
ill. I am merely rather astonished to see you.
Why should I not
be so, seeing how unexpected--"
"WHY should you be astonished? I just got into my chair, and
came. Things are quiet enough in the train, for there is no one
there to chatter. Have you been out for a walk?"
"Yes. I have just been to the Casino."
"Oh? Well, it is quite nice here," she went on as she looked
about her.
"The place seems comfortable, and all the trees are
out. I like it very well. Are your people at home? Is the
General, for instance, indoors?"
"Yes; and probably all of them."
"Do they observe the convenances, and keep up appearances? Such
things always give one tone. I have heard that they are keeping
a carriage, even as Russian gentlefolks ought to do. When
abroad, camisoles our Russian people always cut a dash. Is Prascovia here
too ?"
"Yes. Polina Alexand ... |
