XXXIII
'I'm a friend of your husband's,' he said, bowing low to Marianna and trying, as it seemed, to conceal his scared and excited face; 'I'm a friend, too, of Vassily Fedotitch's. Alexey Dmitritch is asleep; he is, I hear, unwell; and I have unfortunately brought bad news, which I have already communicated in part to Vassily Fedotitch, and in consequence of which decisive measures must be taken.'
Paklin's voice broke continually, like that of a man who is parched and tortured by thirst. The news he brought was really very bad! Markelov had been seized by the peasants and carried off to the town. The stupid clerk had betrayed Golushkin; he had been arrested. He, in his turn, was betraying everything and every one, was eager to go over to orthodoxy, was offering to present the high school with the portrait of the bishop Filaret, and had already forwarded five thousand roubles for distribution among 'crippled soldiers.' There was not a shadow of doubt that he had betrayed Nezhdanov; the police might make a raid upon the factory any minute. Vassily Fedotitch, too, was in some danger. 'As far as I'm concerned,' added Paklin, 'I'm surprised really that I'm still walking about at liberty; though to be sure I have never taken any part precisely in politics and had no hand in any plans. I have taken advantage of this forgetfulness or oversight on the part of the police to warn you and consult you as to what means may be employed . . . to avert all unpleasantness.'
Marianna heard Paklin to the end. She was not frightened—she even remained perfectly serene.. . . But to be sure, some steps would have to be taken! Her first action was to look to Solomin.
He, too, seemed composed; only the muscles were faintly twitching about his lips, with something unlike his habitual smile.
He understood what her look meant; she was waiting for him to say what steps were to be taken.
'It's rather a ticklish business, certainly,' he began; 'it would be as well, I imagine, for Nezhdanov to keep in hiding for a time. By the way, how did you learn that he was here, Mr. Paklin?'
Paklin waved his hand.
'An individual told me. He'd seen him wandering about the neighbourhood making propaganda. Well, he kept an eye on him, though with no evil intent. He is a sympathiser. Pardon me,' he added, turning to Marianna, 'but really, our friend Nezhdanov has been very . . . very indiscreet.'
'It's no use blaming him now,' Solomin began again. 'It's a pity we can't talk things over with him; but his indisposition will be over by to-morrow, and the police are not so rapid in their movements as you imagine. You, too, Marianna Vikentyevna, ought to go away with him, I suppose.'
'Undoubtedly,' Marianna replied, thickly but resolutely.
'Yes,' said Solomin. 'We shall have to think things over; we shall have to find ways and means.'
'Allow me to lay one idea before you,' began Paklin; 'the idea entered my head as I came in here. I hasten to observe that I dismissed the cabman from the town, a mile away.'
'What is your idea?' asked Solomin.
'I'll tell you. Let me have horses at once . . . and I will gallop off to the Sipyagins,'
'To the Sipyagins!' repeated Marianna.. . . 'What for?'
'You shall hear.'
'But do you know them?'
'Not in the least! But listen. Consider my proposition thoroughly. It seems to me simply a stroke of genius. You see, Markelov's Sipyagin's brother-in-law, his wife's brother. Isn't that so? Is it possible that gentleman will do nothing to save him? And moreover, Nezhdanov himself! Granting that Mr. Sipyagin is angry with him.. . . Still, you see, for all that, Nezhdanov has become a relation of his by marrying you. And the danger hanging over our friend's head———'
'I'm not married,' observed Marianna.
Paklin positively started.
'What? Not managed that all this time! Well, never mind,' he went on; 'one can fib a little. It's just the same thing; you're going to be married directly. Indeed, one can't devise any other plan! Take into consideration the fact that Sipyagin up till now has not gone so far as to persecute you. Consequently, he has a certain . . . magnanimity. I see that expression's not to your taste; let's say, a certain affectation of generosity. Why shouldn't we utilise it in the present case? Think of it!'
Marianna raised her head and passed her hand over her hair.
'You may utilise what you please for Markelov's benefit, Mr. Paklin . . . or for your own; but Alexey and I desire neither the protection nor the patronage of Mr. Sipyagin. We did not leave his house to go knocking at his door as beggars. We will owe nothing either to the magnanimity nor the affectation of generosity of Mr. Sipyagin or his wife!'
'Those are most praiseworthy sentiments,' responded Paklin (but, 'My! that's a nice wet blanket!' was his inward comment), 'though, on the other hand, if you come to reflect . . . However, I am ready to obey you. I will exert myself on Markelov's account, our dear, good Markelov only! I venture only to observe that he is not his blood relation, but only related to him through his wife, while you———'
'Mr. Paklin, I beg you!'
'Oh, yes . . . yes! But I can't refrain from expressing my regret, for Sipyagin is a man of great influence.'
'So you've no fears for yourself?' queried Solomin.
Paklin straightened his chest.
'At such moments one must not think of oneself,' he said proudly. And all the while, it was just of himself he was thinking. He wanted (poor, feeble little creature!) to be the first in the field, as the saying is. On the strength of the service rendered him, Sipyagin might, if need arose, speak a word for him. For as a fact, he too—say what he would—was implicated; he had listened . . . and even gone chattering about himself.
'I think your idea's not a bad one,' observed Solomin at last, 'though I put little confidence in its success. Any way, you can try. You will do no harm.'
'Of course not. Come, supposing the very worst; suppose they kick me out.. . . What harm will that do?'
'There'll certainly be no harm in that.. . .' ('Merci!' thought Paklin.) While Solomin went on: 'What o'clock is it? Five o'clock. No time to waste. You shall have the horses directly. Pavel!'
But instead of Pavel, on the threshold they saw Nezhdanov. He staggered, steadying himself on the doorpost, and opening his mouth feebly, stared with bewildered eyes, comprehending nothing.
Paklin was the first to approach him.
'Alyosha! ' he cried, 'you know me, don't you?'
Nezhdanov gazed at him, blinking slowly.
'Paklin?' he said at last.
'Yes, yes; it's I. You are not well?'
'Yes . . . I'm not well. But . . . why are you here?'
'I'm here . . .' But at that instant Marianna stealthily touched Paklin on the elbow. He looked round, and saw she was making signs to him.. . . 'Ah, yes!' he muttered. 'Yes . . . to be sure! Well, do you see, Alyosha,' he added aloud, 'I've come on important business, and must go on further at once.. . . Solomin will tell you all about it—and Marianna . . . Marianna Vikentyevna. They both fully approve of my plan—it's a matter that concerns us all: that is, no, no,' he interpolated hurriedly in response to a gesture and a glance from Marianna.. . . 'It's a matter concerning Markelov, our common friend Markelov; him alone. But now, good-bye! Every minute's precious—good-bye, friend.. . . We shall meet again. Vassily Fedotitch, will you come with me to give orders about the horses?'
'Certainly. Marianna, I'd meant to say to you, keep up your spirits! But there's no need. You're the real thing!'
'Oh, yes! oh, yes!' chimed in Paklin: 'you're a Roman woman of the time of Cato! Cato of Utica! But come along, Vassily Fedotitch, let us go!'
'You've plenty of time,' observed Solomin with a lazy smile. Nezhdanov moved a little aside to let them both pass.. . . But there was still the same uncomprehending look in his eyes. Then he took two steps, and slowly sat down on a chair facing Marianna.
'Alexey,' she said to him,'everything is discovered; Markelov has been seized by the peasants he was trying to incite; he's under arrest in the town, and so is that merchant you dined with; most likely the police will soon be here after us. Paklin has gone to Sipyagin.'
'What for?' muttered Nezhdanov, hardly audibly. But his eyes grew clearer, his face regained its ordinary expression. The stupor had left him instantly.
'To try whether he will intercede.'
Nezhdanov drew himself up.. . . 'For us?'
'No; for Markelov. He wanted to beg for us too . . . but I would not let him. Did I do right, Alexey?'
'Right?' said Nezhdanov, and without getting up from his chair, he held out his hands to her. 'Right?' he repeated, and, drawing her close to him and hiding his face against her, he suddenly burst into tears.
'What is it, dear? what is it?' cried Marianna. Now, too, as on that day when he had fallen on his knees before her, faint and breathless with a sudden torrent of passion, she laid her two hands on his trembling head.
But what she felt now was not at all what she had felt then. Then she had given herself up to him. She had submitted, and simply waited for what he would say to her. Now she pitied him, and thought of nothing but how to comfort him.
'What is it, dear?' she said. 'What are you crying for? Surely not because you came home in rather . . . a strange state! That can't be! Or are you sorry for Markelov, and afraid for me and you? Or are you grieving for our shattered hopes? You didn't expect everything to run smoothly, you know!'
Nezhdanov suddenly raised his head.
'No, Marianna,' he said, gulping down his sobs, 'I'm not afraid for you nor for myself.. . . But yes . . . I am sorry———'
'For whom?'
'For you, Marianna! I'm sorry you have bound up your life with a man unworthy of it.'
'Why so?'
'Well, if only because he can be shedding tears at such a moment!'
'It's not you weeping; it's your nerves!'
'My nerves and I are all one! Come, Marianna, look me in the face: can you really say now that you don't regret. . .'
'What?'
'That you ran away with me?'
'No.'
'And will you go further with me? Everywhere?'
'Yes!'
'Yes? Marianna . . . Yes?'
'Yes. I have given you my word, and so long as you are the man I loved, I will not take it back.'
Nezhdanov went on sitting in his chair; Marianna stood before him. His arms lay about her waist; her hands rested on his shoulders. 'Yes, no,' thought Nezhdanov. . . 'but yet—before, when it was my lot to hold her in my arms, just as at this moment, her body was at least motionless; but now, I feel it gently and perhaps against her will shrink away from me!' He loosened his arms . . . Marianna did, in fact, scarcely perceptibly draw back.
'I tell you what!' he said aloud, 'if we must run away . . . before the police discover us . . . I suppose it would be as well for us to be married first. Most likely we shouldn't meet with such an accommodating priest as Zosim anywhere else!'
'I'm ready,' said Marianna.
Nezhdanov looked intently at her.
'Roman maiden!' he said with an evil half-smile. 'What a sense of duty!'
Marianna shrugged her shoulders.
'We must speak to Solomin.'
'Yes . . . Solomin . . .' Nezhdanov drawled. 'But he too, I suppose, is in some danger. The police will seize him too. It strikes me he has done more and known more about it than I.'
'I know nothing about that,' said Marianna. 'He never talks about himself.'
'Unlike me in that!' thought Nezhdanov. 'That was what she meant! Solomin . . . Solomin,' he repeated after a long silence. 'Do you know, Marianna, I should not pity you, if the man with whom you had linked your life for ever had been like Solomin . . . or had been Solomin himself.'
Marianna, in her turn, looked intently at Nezhdanov.
'You had no right to say that,' she said finally.
'I'd no right! How am I to understand those words? Do they mean that you love me? or that I ought not any way to touch on that question?'
'You had no right to say it,' repeated Marianna.
Nezhdanov's head drooped.
'Marianna!' he articulated in a somewhat changed voice.
'Well?'
'If I were now . . . if I put you that question—you know?. . . No, I ask nothing of you . . . good-bye.'
He got up and went out; Marianna did not try to keep him. Nezhdanov sat down on the sofa and hid his face in his hands. He was frightened by his own thoughts, and tried not to think. He had one feeling only, that a sort of dark, underground hand seemed to have clutched at the very root of his being, and would not let him go. He knew that that sweet, precious woman he had left in the next room would not come out to him; and he dared not go in to her. And what would be the use? What could he say?
Rapid, resolute footsteps made him open his eyes.
Solomin walked across his room, and, knocking at Marianna's door, went in.
'Make way for your betters!' muttered Nezhdanov in a bitter whisper.