Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/70

46

Before long, Aglaya's parents arrived. It was after lunch. During luch, Aglaya had waxed very merry at her husband's expense. Then she went off to her room.

He went timidly into his study,—it seemed huge to him now,—scrambled up on to the ottoman, curled himself up in a corner and began crying. Burdensome perplexities tormented him.

Why should just he be overwhelmed bv such a misfortune? It was dreadful, unheard of.

What utter folly.

He sobbed and whispered despairingly:

"Why, oh, why did I do it?"

Suddenly he heard familiar voices in the front room. He shook with horror. On tiptoe he crept to the washing-atand,—they should not see his tear-stained eyes. Even to wash himself was difficult,—he had to stand on a chair.

The guests had already entered the drawing-room. Saranin received them. He bowed, and in a piping voice made some unintelligible remark. Aglaya's father looked at him blankly with wide-open eyes. He was big, stout, bull-necked and red-faced. Aglaya was at his heels.

He stood still before his son-in-law, and with legs wide apart, he eyed him attentively; he took