Part 8 (1/2)
”No, dear; do you wish anything?”
Cara began in a loud voice:
”I wish immensely, immensely, Miss Mary, to go with you to England, to your father and mother. Oh, how I should like to be in that parsonage a while, where your sisters teach poor children and nurse the sick, and your mother makes tea at the grate for your father when he comes home after services. Oh, Mary, if you and I could go to that place! It is so pleasant there.” In the blue light and in the silence her thin voice recalled the twittering of a lark.
”We will go there sometime, dear. Your parents will permit, and we will go. But sleep now.”
”Very well, I will sleep. Good-night, Miss Mary--my dear, good Miss Mary.”
She lay some minutes quietly thinking, till she sat up again in bed coughing. When the cough had pa.s.sed, she called in a low voice:
”Miss Mary! Miss Mary!”
There was no answer.
”She is sleeping,” whispered Cara, and after a while she looked around, and, in a lower voice, called:
”Puffie! Puffie!”
At this call the little dog sprang from a neighboring chair, and in the twinkle of an eye was on the bed.
Cara stroked the silken coat of the dog, and bending toward him whispered:
”Puffie! Puffie! dear, little dog! lie here, sleep for thyself!”
She put him on her breast almost at her chin; with her hand on his coat, and with the whisper: ”Puffie! good Puffie!” she fell asleep.
Then was heard the sound of a drozhky, coming quickly, with uproar in front of the house, and again there was an end to voices and movement. Two men ascended the stairway, one much older than the other, with a carefully brushed, but somewhat worn hat, in a fas.h.i.+onable but somewhat worn fur. He spoke in a low voice:
”Yes, yes! c'est quelque chose d'inoui! he commanded me to break off all relations with you, and to stop visiting his house.”
”A thousand and one nights! Why is it? What is it for?” exclaimed the other.
Suddenly he stopped part way on the stairs, and asked with a half jeering, half pitying look at his companion:
”If he should find out?”
Kranitski turned his face away.
”My Maryan--with you--of that--”
”Painted pots!” laughed Maryan. ”Do you take me for my great-grandfather? Well, has he found it out?”
With red spots on his cheeks and forehead Kranitski blinked affirmatively.
”Sapristi!” imprecated Maryan, and immediately he laughed again.
”And why? for what reason? Did he also believe in painted pots? I thought him modern.”
”Alas!” sighed Kranitski.