Stories by Foreign Authors: Russian | Page 9

she faltered; "I fancy it's the dumb man's dog."
"Mercy!" the lady cut her short; "but it's a charming little dog! order it to be brought in. Has he had it long? How is it I've never seen it before? . . . Order it to be brought in."
The companion flew at once into the hall.
"Boy, boy!" she shouted; "bring Mumu in at once! She's in the flower- garden."
"Her name's Mumu then," observed the lady; "a very nice name."
"Oh, very, indeed!" chimed in the companion. "Make haste, Stepan!"
Stepan, a sturdy-built young fellow, whose duties were those of a footman, rushed headlong into the flower-garden, and tried to capture Mumu, but she cleverly slipped from his fingers, and with her tail in the air, fled full speed to Gerasim, who was at that instant in the kitchen, knocking out and cleaning a barrel, turning it upside down in his hands like a child's drum. Stepan ran after her, and tried to catch her just at her master's feet; but the sensible dog would not let a stranger touch her, and with a bound, she got away. Gerasim looked on with a smile at all this ado; at last, Stepan got up, much amazed, and hurriedly explained to him by signs that the mistress wanted the dog brought in to her. Gerasim was a little astonished; he called Mumu, however, picked her up, and handed her over to Stepan. Stepan carried her into the drawing-room, and put her down on the parquette floor. The old lady began calling the dog to her in a coaxing voice. Mumu, who had never in her life been in such magnificent apartments, was very much frightened, and made a rush for the door, but, being driven back by the obsequious Stepan, she began trembling, and huddled close up against the wall.
"Mumu, Mumu, come to me, come to your mistress," said the lady; "come, silly thing . . . don't be afraid."
"Come, Mumu, come to the mistress," repeated the companions. "Come along!"
But Mumu looked round her uneasily, and did not stir.
"Bring her something to eat," said the old lady. "How stupid she is! she won't come to her mistress. What's she afraid of?"
"She's not used to your honor yet," ventured one of the companions in a timid and conciliatory voice.
Stepan brought in a saucer of milk, and set it down before Mumu, but Mumu would not even sniff at the milk, and still shivered, and looked round as before.
"Ah, what a silly you are!" said the lady, and going up to her, she stooped down, and was about to stroke her, but Mumu turned her head abruptly, and showed her teeth. The lady hurriedly drew back her hand. . . .
A momentary silence followed. Mumu gave a faint whine, as though she would complain and apologize. . . . The old lady moved back, scowling. The dog's sudden movement had frightened her.
"Ah!" shrieked all the companions at once, "she's not bitten you, has she? Heaven forbid! (Mumu had never bitten any one in her life.) Ah! ah!"
"Take her away," said the old lady in a changed voice. "Wretched little dog! What a spiteful creature!"
And, turning round deliberately, she went towards her boudoir. Her companions looked timidly at one another, and were about to follow her, but she stopped, stared coldly at them, and said, "What's that for, pray? I've not called you," and went out.
The companions waved their hands to Stepan in despair. He picked up Mumu, and flung her promptly outside the door, just at Gerasim's feet, and half an hour later a profound stillness led in the house, and the old lady sat on her sofa looking blacker than a thundercloud.
What trifles, if you think of it, will sometimes disturb any one!
Till evening the lady was out of humor; she did not talk to any one, did not play cards, and passed a bad night. She fancied the eau-de-Cologne they gave her was not the same as she usually had, and that her pillow smelt of soap, and she made the wardrobe-maid smell all the bed linen-- in fact she was very upset and cross altogether. Next morning she ordered Gavrila to be summoned an hour earlier than usual.
"Tell me, please," she began, directly the latter, not without some inward trepidation, crossed the threshold of her boudoir, "what dog was that barking all night in our yard? It wouldn't let me sleep!"
"A dog, 'm . . . what dog, 'm . . . may be, the dumb man's dog, 'm," he brought out in a rather unsteady voice.
"I don't know whether it was the dumb man's or whose, but it wouldn't let me sleep. And I wonder what we have such a lot of dogs for! I wish to know. We have a yard dog, haven't