Part 62

She went out, but in a minute or two her door opened slightly and he heard her say, “Goodnight!” then more softly another “Goodnight!” and the key turned in the lock.

Nejdanov sank on to the sofa and covered his face with his hands. Then he got up quickly, went to her door and knocked.

“What is it?” was heard from within.

“Not till tomorrow, Mariana... not till tomorrow!”

“Till tomorrow,” she replied softly.

XXIX

Early the next morning Nejdanov again knocked at Mariana’s door.

“It is I,” he replied in answer to her “Who’s that?” “Can you come out to me?”

“In a minute.”

She came out and uttered a cry of alarm. At first she did not recognise him. He had on a long-skirted, shabby, yellowish nankin coat, with small buttons and a high waist; his hair was dressed in the Russian fashion with a parting straight down the middle; he had a blue kerchief round his neck, in his hand he held a cap with a broken peak, on his feet a pair of dirty leather boots.

“Heavens!” Mariana exclaimed. “How ugly you look!” and thereupon threw her arms round him and kissed him quickly. “But why did you get yourself up like this? You look like some sort of shopkeeper, or pedlar, or a retired servant. Why this long coat? Why not simply like a peasant?”

“Why?” Nejdanov began. He certainly did look like some sort of fishmonger in that garb, was conscious of it himself, and was annoyed and embarrassed at heart. He felt uncomfortable, and not knowing what to do with his hands, kept patting himself on the breast with the fingers outspread, as though he were brushing himself.

“Because as a peasant I should have been recognised at once Pavel says, and that in this costume I look as if I had been born to it ... which is not very flattering to my vanity, by the way.”

“Are you going to begin at once?” Mariana asked eagerly.

“Yes, I shall try, though in reality—”

“You are lucky!” Mariana interrupted him.

“This Pavel is a wonderful fellow,” Nejdanov continued. “He can see through and through you in a second, and will suddenly screw up his face as if he knew nothing, and would not interfere with anything for the world. He works for the cause himself, yet laughs at it the whole time. He brought me the books from Markelov; he knows him and calls him Sergai Mihailovitch; and as for Solomin, he would go through fire and water for him.”

“And so would Tatiana,” Mariana observed. “Why are people so devoted to him?”

Nejdanov did not reply.

“What sort of books did Pavel bring you?” Mariana asked.

“Oh, nothing new. ‘The Story of the Four Brothers,’ and then the ordinary, well-known ones, which are far better I think.”

Mariana looked around uneasily.

“I wonder what has become of Tatiana? She promised to come early.”

“Here I am!” Tatiana exclaimed, coming in with a bundle in her hand. She had heard Mariana’s exclamation from behind the door.

“There’s plenty of time. See what I’ve brought you!”

Mariana flew towards her.

“Have you brought it?”

Tatiana patted the bundle.