The Darling | Page 4

life. He
was married and had a little boy, but was separated from his wife
because she had been unfaithful to him, and now he hated her and used
to send her forty roubles a month for the maintenance of their son. And
hearing of all this, Olenka sighed and shook her head. She was sorry for
him.
"Well, God keep you," she used to say to him at parting, as she lighted
him down the stairs with a candle. "Thank you for coming to cheer me
up, and may the Mother of God give you health."
And she always expressed herself with the same sedateness and dignity,
the same reasonableness, in imitation of her husband. As the veterinary
surgeon was disappearing behind the door below, she would say:
"You know, Vladimir Platonitch, you'd better make it up with your
wife. You should forgive her for the sake of your son. You may be sure
the little fellow understands."
And when Pustovalov came back, she told him in a low voice about the
veterinary surgeon and his unhappy home life, and both sighed and
shook their heads and talked about the boy, who, no doubt, missed his

father, and by some strange connection of ideas, they went up to the
holy ikons, bowed to the ground before them and prayed that God
would give them children.
And so the Pustovalovs lived for six years quietly and peaceably in
love and complete harmony.
But behold! one winter day after drinking hot tea in the office, Vassily
Andreitch went out into the yard without his cap on to see about
sending off some timber, caught cold and was taken ill. He had the best
doctors, but he grew worse and died after four months' illness. And
Olenka was a widow once more.
"I've nobody, now you've left me, my darling," she sobbed, after her
husband's funeral. "How can I live without you, in wretchedness and
misery! Pity me, good people, all alone in the world!"
She went about dressed in black with long "weepers," and gave up
wearing hat and gloves for good. She hardly ever went out, except to
church, or to her husband's grave, and led the life of a nun. It was not
till six months later that she took off the weepers and opened the
shutters of the windows. She was sometimes seen in the mornings,
going with her cook to market for provisions, but what went on in her
house and how she lived now could only be surmised. People guessed,
from seeing her drinking tea in her garden with the veterinary surgeon,
who read the newspaper aloud to her, and from the fact that, meeting a
lady she knew at the post-office, she said to her:
"There is no proper veterinary inspection in our town, and that's the
cause of all sorts of epidemics. One is always hearing of people's
getting infection from the milk supply, or catching diseases from horses
and cows. The health of domestic animals ought to be as well cared for
as the health of human beings."
She repeated the veterinary surgeon's words, and was of the same
opinion as he about everything. It was evident that she could not live a
year without some attachment, and had found new happiness in the
lodge. In any one else this would have been censured, but no one could
think ill of Olenka; everything she did was so natural. Neither she nor
the veterinary surgeon said anything to other people of the change in
their relations, and tried, indeed, to conceal it, but without success, for
Olenka could not keep a secret. When he had visitors, men serving in
his regiment, and she poured out tea or served the supper, she would

begin talking of the cattle plague, of the foot and mouth disease, and of
the municipal slaughterhouses. He was dreadfully embarrassed, and
when the guests had gone, he would seize her by the hand and hiss
angrily:
"I've asked you before not to talk about what you don't understand.
When we veterinary surgeons are talking among ourselves, please don't
put your word in. It's really annoying."
And she would look at him with astonishment and dismay, and ask him
in alarm: "But, Voloditchka, what am I to talk about?"
And with tears in her eyes she would embrace him, begging him not to
be angry, and they were both happy.
But this happiness did not last long. The veterinary surgeon departed,
departed for ever with his regiment, when it was transferred to a distant
place--to Siberia, it may be. And Olenka was left alone.
Now she was absolutely alone. Her father had long been dead, and his
armchair lay in the attic, covered with dust and lame of one leg. She got
thinner and