First Love Read Free Page B

unconsciously, and going back to the drawing room I began to make bows and scrape with my heels.
    “Where are you off to?” the young princess asked, glancing at me from behind the hussar.
    “I must go home. So I am to say,” I added, addressing the old lady, “that you will come to us about two.”
    “Do you say so, my good sir.”
    The princess hurriedly pulled out her snuff-box and took snuff so loudly that I positively jumped. “Do you say so,” she repeated, blinking tearfully and sneezing.
    I bowed once more, turned, and went out of the room with that sensation of awkwardness in my spine which a very young man feels when he knows he is being looked at from behind.
    “Mind you come and see us again, M’sieu Voldemar,” Zinaïda called, and she laughed again.
    “Why is it she’s always laughing?” I thought, as I went back home escorted by Fyodor, who said nothing to me, but walked behind me with an air of disapprobation. My mother scolded me and wondered what ever I could have been doing so long at the princess’s. I made her no reply and went off to my own room. I felt suddenly very sad.… I tried hard not to cry.… I was jealous of the hussar.

V
    The princess called on my mother as she had promised and made a disagreeable impression on her. I was not present at their interview, but at table my mother told my father that this Princess Zasyekin struck her as a
femme très vulgaire
, that she had quite worn her out begging her to interest Prince Sergei in their behalf, that she seemed to have no end of lawsuits and affairs on hand—
de vilaines affaires d’argent
—and must be a very troublesome and litigious person. My mother added, however, that she had asked her and her daughter to dinner the next day (hearing the word “daughter” I buried my nose in my plate), for after all she was a neighbour and a person of title. Upon this my father informed my mother that he remembered now who this lady was; that he had in hisyouth known the deceased Prince Zasyekin, a very well-bred, but frivolous and absurd person; that he had been nicknamed in society “
le Parisien
,” from having lived a long while in Paris; that he had been very rich, but had gambled away all his property; and for some unknown reason, probably for money, though indeed he might have chosen better, if so, my father added with a cold smile, he had married the daughter of an agent, and after his marriage had entered upon speculations and ruined himself utterly.
    “If only she doesn’t try to borrow money,” observed my mother.
    “That’s exceedingly possible,” my father responded tranquilly. “Does she speak French?”
    “Very badly.”
    “H’m. It’s of no consequence anyway. I think you said you had asked the daughter, too; some one was telling me she was a very charming and cultivated girl.”
    “Ah! Then she can’t take after her mother.”
    “Nor her father either,” rejoined my father. “He was cultivated indeed, but a fool.”
    My mother sighed and sank into thought. My father said no more. I felt very uncomfortable during this conversation.
    After dinner I went into the garden, but without my gun. I swore to myself that I would not go near the Zasyekins’ garden, but an irresistible force drew me thither, and not in vain. I had hardly reached the fence when I caught sight of Zinaïda. This time she was alone. She held a book in her hands, and was coming slowly along the path. She did not notice me.
    I almost let her pass by; but all at once I changed my mind and coughed.
    She turned round, but did not stop, pushed back with one hand the broad blue ribbon of her round straw hat, looked at me, smiled slowly, and again bent her eyes on the book.
    I took off my cap, and after hesitating a moment, walked away with a heavy heart. “
Que suis-je pour elle
?” I thought (God knows why) in French.
    Familiar footsteps sounded behind me; I looked round, my father came up to me with his light, rapid walk.
    “Is that the