Part 60

“Yes... yes...” Nejdanov stammered out, and added by way of explanation, “it’s a portrait.”

The word escaped him unawares. The packet Mariana held in her hand was her own portrait, which Markelov had given Nejdanov.

“A portrait?” she drawled out. “Is it a woman’s?”

She handed him the packet, which he took so clumsily that it slipped out of his hand and fell open.

“Why... it’s my portrait!” Mariana exclaimed quickly. “I suppose I may look at my own portrait.” She took it out of Nejdanov’s hand.

“Did you do it?”

“No... I didn’t.”

“Who then? Markelov?”

“Yes, you’ve guessed right.”

“Then how did it come to be in your possession?”

“He gave it to me.”

“When?”

Nejdanov told her when and under what circumstances. While he was speaking Mariana glanced from him to the portrait. The same thought flashed across both their minds. “If he were in this room, then he would have the right to demand...” But neither Mariana nor Nejdanov gave expression to this thought in words, perhaps because each was conscious what was in the other’s mind.

Mariana quietly wrapped the portrait up again in its paper and put it on the table.

“What a good man he is!” she murmured. “I wonder where he is now?”

“Why, at home of course. Tomorrow or the day after I must go and see him about some books and pamphlets. He promised to give me some, but evidently forgot to do so before I left.”

“And do you think, Aliosha, that when he gave you this portrait he renounced everything... absolutely everything?”

“I think so.”

“Do you think you will find him at home?”

“Of course.”

“Ah!” Mariana lowered her eyes and dropped her hands at her sides. “But here comes Tatiana with our dinner,” she exclaimed suddenly. “Isn’t she a dear!”

Tatiana appeared with the knives and forks, serviettes, plates and dishes. While laying the table she related all the news about the factory. “The master came from Moscow by rail and started running from floor to floor like a madman. Of course he doesn’t understand anything and does it only for show—to set an example so to speak. Vassily Fedotitch treats him like a child. The master wanted to make some unpleasantness, but Vassily Fedotitch soon shut him up. ‘I’ll throw it up this minute,’ he said, so he soon began to sing small. They are having dinner now. The master brought someone with him. A Moscow swell who does nothing but admire everything. He must be very rich, I think, by the way he holds his tongue and shakes his head. And so stout, very stout! A real swell! No wonder there’s a saying that ‘Moscow lies at the foot of Russia and everything rolls down to her.’”

“How you notice everything!” Mariana exclaimed.

“Yes, I do rather,” Tatiana observed. “Well, here is your dinner. Come and have it and I’ll sit and look at you for a little while.”

Mariana and Nejdanov sat down to table, whilst Tatiana sat down on the window-sill and rested her cheek in her hand.

“I watch you...” she observed. “And what dear, young, tender creatures you are. You’re so nice to look at that it quite makes my heart ache. Ah, my dear! You are taking a heavier burden on your shoulders than you can bear. It’s people like you that the tsar’s folk are ready to put into prison.”

“Nothing of the kind. Don’t frighten us,” Nejdanov remarked. “You know the old saying, ‘As you make your bed so you must lie on it.’”

“Yes, I know. But the beds are so narrow nowadays that you can’t get out of them!”