第56章 CHAPTER VII(7)

"What is there that is better?"

Walking along the street he looked at the windows of the house and in one of them he noticed Luba's face. It was just as vague as everything that the girl told him, even as vague as her longings.

Foma nodded his head toward her and with a consciousness of his superiority over her, thought:

"She has also lost her way, like the other one."At this recollection he shook his head, as though he wanted to frighten away the thought of Medinskaya, and quickened his steps.

Night was coming on, and the air was fresh. A cold, invigorating wind was violently raging in the street, driving the dust along the sidewalks and throwing it into the faces of the passers-by. It was dark, and people were hastily striding along in the darkness. Foma wrinkled his face, for the dust filled his eyes, and thought:

"If it is a woman I meet now--then it will mean that Sophya Pavlovna will receive me in a friendly way, as before. I am going to see her tomorrow. And if it is a man--I won't go tomorrow, I'll wait."But it was a dog that came to meet him, and this irritated Foma to such an extent that he felt like striking him with his cane.

In the refreshment-room of the club, Foma was met by the jovial Ookhtishchev. He stood at the door, and chatted with a certain stout, whiskered man; but, noticing Gordyeeff, he came forward to meet him, saying, with a smile:

"How do you do, modest millionaire!" Foma rather liked him for his jolly mood, and was always pleased to meet him.

Firmly and kind-heartedly shaking Ookhtishchev's hand, Foma asked him:

"And what makes you think that I am modest?"

"What a question! A man, who lives like a hermit, who neither drinks, nor plays, nor likes any women. By the way, do you know, Foma Ignatyevich, that peerless patroness of ours is going abroad tomorrow for the whole summer?""Sophya Pavlovna?" asked Foma, slowly. "Of course! The sun of my life is setting. And, perhaps, of yours as well?"Ookhtishchev made a comical, sly grimace and looked into Foma's face.

And Foma stood before him, feeling that his head was lowering on his breast, and that he was unable to hinder it.

"Yes, the radiant Aurora."

"Is Medinskaya going away?" a deep bass voice asked. "That's fine!

I am glad."

"May I know why?" exclaimed Ookhtishchev. Foma smiled sheepishly and stared in confusion at the whiskered man, Ookhtishchev's interlocutor.

That man was stroking his moustache with an air of importance, and deep, heavy, repulsive words fell from his lips on Foma's ears.

"Because, you see, there will be one co-cot-te less in town.""Shame, Martin Nikitich!" said Ookhtishchev, reproachfully, knitting his brow.

"How do you know that she is a coquette?" asked Foma, sternly, coming closer to the whiskered man. The man measured him with a scornful look, turned aside and moving his thigh, drawled out:

"I didn't say--coquette."

"Martin Nikitich, you mustn't speak that way about a woman who--"began Ookhtishchev in a convincing tone, but Foma interrupted him:

"Excuse me, just a moment! I wish to ask the gentleman, what is the meaning of the word he said?"And as he articulated this firmly and calmly, Foma thrust his hands deep into his trousers-pockets, threw his chest forward, which at once gave his figure an attitude of defiance. The whiskered gentleman again eyed Foma with a sarcastic smile.

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev, softly.

"I said, co-cot-te," pronounced the whiskered man, moving his lips as if he tasted the word. "And if you don't understand it, I can explain it to you.""You had better explain it," said Foma, with a deep sigh, not lifting his eyes off the man.

Ookhtishchev clasped his hands and rushed aside.

"A cocotte, if you want to know it, is a prostitute," said the whiskered man in a low voice, moving his big, fat face closer to Foma.

Foma gave a soft growl and, before the whiskered man had time to move away, he clutched with his right hand his curly, grayish hair.

With a convulsive movement of the hand, Foma began to shake the man's head and his big, solid body; lifting up his left hand, he spoke in a dull voice, keeping time to the punishment:

"Don't abuse a person--in his absence. Abuse him--right in his face--straight in his eyes."He experienced a burning delight, seeing how comically the stout arms were swinging in the air, and how the legs of the man, whom he was shaking, were bending under him, scraping against the floor.

His gold watch fell out of the pocket and dangled on the chain, over his round paunch. Intoxicated with his own strength and with the degradation of the sedate man, filled with the burning feeling of malignancy, trembling with the happiness of revenge, Foma dragged him along the floor and in a dull voice, growled wickedly, in wild joy. In these moments he experienced a great feeling--the feeling of emancipation from the wearisome burden which had long oppressed his heart with grief and morbidness. He felt that he was seized by the waist and shoulders from behind, that someone seized his hand and bent it, trying to break it; that someone was crushing his toes; but he saw nothing, following with his bloodshot eyes the dark, heavy mass moaning and wriggling in his hand. Finally, they tore him away and downed him, and, as through a reddish mist, he noticed before him on the floor, at his feet, the man he had thrashed. Dishevelled, he was moving his legs over the floor, attempting to rise; two dark men were holding him by the arms, his hands were dangling in the air like broken wings, and, in a voice that was choking with sobs, he cried to Foma:

"You mustn't beat me! You mustn't! I have an...

Order. You rascal! Oh, rascal! I have children.

Everybody knows me! Scoundrel! Savage, 0--0--0! You may expect a duel!"And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma's ear:

"Come, my dear boy, for God's sake!"