The Chorus Girl and Other Stories

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
The Chorus Girl and Other
Stories

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Title: The Chorus Girl and Other Stories
Author: Anton Chekhov
Release Date: September 9, 2004 [EBook #13418]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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CHORUS GIRL AND OTHER STORIES ***

Produced by James Rusk

THE TALES OF CHEKHOV
VOLUME 8
THE CHORUS GIRL AND OTHER STORIES
BY
ANTON TCHEKHOV
Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT

CONTENTS
THE CHORUS GIRL VEROTCHKA MY LIFE AT A COUNTRY
HOUSE A FATHER ON THE ROAD ROTHSCHILD'S FIDDLE
IVAN MATVEYITCH ZINOTCHKA BAD WEATHER A
GENTLEMAN FRIEND A TRIVIAL INCIDENT

THE CHORUS GIRL
ONE day when she was younger and better-looking, and when her
voice was stronger, Nikolay Petrovitch Kolpakov, her adorer, was
sitting in the outer room in her summer villa. It was intolerably hot and
stifling. Kolpakov, who had just dined and drunk a whole bottle of
inferior port, felt ill-humoured and out of sorts. Both were bored and
waiting for the heat of the day to be over in order to go for a walk.
All at once there was a sudden ring at the door. Kolpakov, who was
sitting with his coat off, in his slippers, jumped up and looked
inquiringly at Pasha.
"It must be the postman or one of the girls," said the singer.
Kolpakov did not mind being found by the postman or Pasha's lady
friends, but by way of precaution gathered up his clothes and went into
the next room, while Pasha ran to open the door. To her great surprise
in the doorway stood, not the postman and not a girl friend, but an
unknown woman, young and beautiful, who was dressed like a lady,
and from all outward signs was one.
The stranger was pale and was breathing heavily as though she had
been running up a steep flight of stairs.
"What is it?" asked Pasha.
The lady did not at once answer. She took a step forward, slowly
looked about the room, and sat down in a way that suggested that from
fatigue, or perhaps illness, she could not stand; then for a long time her
pale lips quivered as she tried in vain to speak.
"Is my husband here?" she asked at last, raising to Pasha her big eyes
with their red tear-stained lids.
"Husband?" whispered Pasha, and was suddenly so frightened that her
hands and feet turned cold. "What husband?" she repeated, beginning
to tremble.
"My husband, . . . Nikolay Petrovitch Kolpakov."
"N . . . no, madam. . . . I . . . I don't know any husband."

A minute passed in silence. The stranger several times passed her
handkerchief over her pale lips and held her breath to stop her inward
trembling, while Pasha stood before her motionless, like a post, and
looked at her with astonishment and terror.
"So you say he is not here?" the lady asked, this time speaking with a
firm voice and smiling oddly.
"I . . . I don't know who it is you are asking about."
"You are horrid, mean, vile . . ." the stranger muttered, scanning Pasha
with hatred and repulsion. "Yes, yes . . . you are horrid. I am very, very
glad that at last I can tell you so!"
Pasha felt that on this lady in black with the angry eyes and white
slender fingers she produced the impression of something horrid and
unseemly, and she felt ashamed of her chubby red cheeks, the
pock-mark on her nose, and the fringe on her forehead, which never
could be combed back. And it seemed to her that if she had been thin,
and had had no powder on her face and no fringe on her forehead, then
she could have disguised the fact that she was not "respectable," and
she would not have felt so frightened and ashamed to stand facing this
unknown, mysterious lady.
"Where is my husband?" the lady went on. "Though I don't care
whether he is here or not, but I ought to tell you that the money has
been missed, and they are looking for Nikolay Petrovitch. . . . They
mean to arrest him. That's your doing!"
The lady got up and walked about the room in great excitement. Pasha
looked at her and was so frightened that she could not understand.
"He'll be found and arrested to-day," said the lady, and she gave a sob,
and in that sound could be heard her
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