Part 53

“Do you want to know why I am displeased with you, Mariana? Then I must tell you that I disapprove of your prolonged interviews with a young man who is very much beneath you in birth, breeding, and social position. I am displeased... no! this word is far too mild—I am shocked at your late... your night visits to this young man! And where does it happen? Under my own roof! Perhaps you see nothing wrong in it and think that it has nothing to do with me, that I should be silent and thereby screen your disgraceful conduct. As an honourable woman... oui, mademoiselle, je l’ai été, je le suis, et je le serai toujours! I can’t help being horrified at such proceedings!”

Valentina Mihailovna threw herself into an armchair as if overcome by her indignation. Mariana smiled for the first time.

“I do not doubt your honour—past, present, and to come,” she began; “and I mean this quite sincerely. Your indignation is needless. I have brought no shame on your house. The young man whom you alluded to... yes, I have certainly... fallen in love with him.”

“You love Mr. Nejdanov?”

“Yes, I love him.”

Valentina Mihailovna sat up straight in her chair.

“But, Mariana! he’s only a student, of no birth, no family, and he is younger than you are!” (These words were pronounced not without a certain spiteful pleasure.) “What earthly good can come of it? What do you see in him? He is only an empty-headed boy.”

“That was not always your opinion of him, Valentina Mihailovna.”

“For heaven’s sake leave me out of the question, my dear!.... Pas tant d’esprit que ça, je vous prie. The thing concerns you and your future. Just consider for a moment. What sort of a match is this for you?”

“I must confess, Valentina Mihailovna, that I did not look at it in that light.”

“What? What did you say? What am I to think? Let us assume that you followed the dictates of your heart, but then it must end in marriage sometime or other.”

“I don’t know... I had not thought of that.”

“You had not thought of that? You must be mad!”

Mariana turned away.

“Let us make an end of this conversation, Valentina Mihailovna. It won’t lead to anything. In any case we won’t understand each other.”

Valentina Mihailovna started up.

“I can’t, I won’t put an end to this conversation! It’s far too serious.... I am responsible for you before...”

Valentina Mihailovna was going to say God, but hesitated and added, “before the whole world! I can’t be silent when I hear such utter madness! And why can’t I understand you, pray? What insufferable pride these young people have nowadays! On the contrary, I understand you only too well... I can see that you are infected with these new ideas, which will only be your ruin. It will be too late to turn back then.”

“Maybe; but believe me, even if we perish, we will not so much as stretch out a finger that you might save us!”

“Pride again! This awful pride! But listen, Mariana, listen to me,” she added, suddenly changing her tone. She wanted to draw Mariana nearer to herself, but the latter stepped back a pace. “Ecoutez-moi, je vous en conjure! After all, I am not so old nor so stupid that it should be impossible for us to understand each other! Je ne suis pas une encroûtée. I was even considered a republican as a girl ... no less than you. Listen, I won’t pretend that I ever had any motherly feeling towards you... and it is not in your nature to complain of that.... But I always felt, and feel now, that I owed certain duties towards you, and I have always endeavoured to fulfil them. Perhaps the match I had in my mind for you, for which both Boris Andraevitch and I would have been ready to make any sacrifice ... may not have been fully in accordance with your ideas ... but in the bottom of my heart—”

Mariana looked at Valentina Mihailovna, at her wonderful eyes, her slightly painted lips, at her white hands, the parted fingers adorned with rings, which the elegant lady so energetically pressed against the bodice of her silk dress.... Suddenly she interrupted her.

“Did you say a match, Valentina Mihailovna? Do you call that heartless, vulgar friend of yours, Mr. Kollomietzev, ‘a match?’”

Valentina Mihailovna took her fingers from her bodice. “Yes, Mariana Vikentievna! I am speaking of that cultured, excellent young man, Mr. Kollomietzev, who would make a wife happy and whom only a mad-woman could refuse! Yes, only a mad-woman!”

“What can I do, ma tante? It seems that I am mad!”

“Have you anything serious against him?”

“Nothing whatever. I simply despise him.” Valentina Mihailovna shook her head impatiently and dropped into her chair again.

“Let us leave him. Retournons à nos moutons. And so you love Mr. Nejdanov?”

“Yes.”