Twenty-six and One | Page 8

and that we ought to irritate his
self-love the more. Since that day we began to live a particular,
intensely nervous life--a life we had never lived before. We argued
with one another all day long, as if we had grown wiser. We spoke
more and better. It seemed to us that we were playing a game with the
devil, with Tanya as the stake on our side. And when we had learned
from the bulochniks that the soldier began to court "our Tanya," we felt
so dreadfully good and were so absorbed in our curiosity that we did
not even notice that the proprietor, availing himself of our excitement,
added to our work fourteen poods (a pood is a weight of forty Russian
pounds) of dough a day. We did not even get tired of working. Tanya's
name did not leave our lips all day long. And each morning we
expected her with especial impatience. Sometimes we imagined that
she might come to us--and that she would be no longer the same Tanya,
but another one.
However, we told her nothing about the dispute. We asked her no
questions and treated her as kindly as before. But something new and
foreign to our former feelings for Tanya crept in stealthily into our
relation toward her, and this new something was keen curiosity, sharp
and cold like a steel knife.

"Fellows! Time is up to-day!" said the baker one morning, commencing
to work.
We knew this well without his calling our attention to it, but we gave a
start, nevertheless.
"Watch her! . . . She'll come soon!" suggested the baker. Some one
exclaimed regretfully: "What can we see?"
And again a lively, noisy dispute ensued. To-day we were to learn at
last how far pure and inaccessible to filth was the urn wherein we had
placed all that was best in us. This morning we felt for the first time
that we were really playing a big game, that this test of our godling's
purity might destroy our idol. We had been told all these days that the
soldier was following Tanya obstinately, but for some reason or other
none of us asked how she treated him. And she kept on coming to us
regularly every morning for biscuits and was the same as before. This
day, too, we soon heard her voice:
"Little prisoners! I've come. . . ."
We hastened to let her in, and when she entered we met her, against our
habit, in silence. Staring at her fixedly, we did not know what to say to
her, what to ask her; and as we stood before her we formed a dark,
silent crowd. She was evidently surprised at our unusual reception, and
suddenly we noticed that she turned pale, became restless, began to
bustle about and asked in a choking voice:
"Why are you . . . such?
"And you?" asked the baker sternly, without taking his eyes off the girl.
"What's the matter with me?"
"Nothing. . . ."
"Well, quicker, give me biscuits. . . ."
She had never before hurried us on. . . .

"There's plenty of time!" said the baker, his eyes fixed, on her face.
Then she suddenly turned around and disappeared behind the door.
The baker took up his shovel and said calmly, turning towards the
oven:
"It is done, it seems! . . . The soldier! . . . Rascal! . . . Scoundrel!" . . .
Like a herd of sheep, pushing one another, we walked back to the table,
seated ourselves in silence and began to work slowly. Soon some one
said:
"And perhaps not yet." . . .
"Go on! Talk about it!" cried the baker.
We all knew that he was a clever man, cleverer than any of us, and we
understood by his words that he was firmly convinced of the soldier's
victory. . . . We were sad and uneasy. At twelve o'clock, during the
dinner hour, the soldier came. He was, as usual, clean and smart, and,
as usual, looked straight into our eyes. We felt awkward to look at him.
"Well, honorable gentlemen, if you wish, I can show you a soldier's
boldness," . . . said he, smiling proudly. "You go out into the hallway
and look through the clefts. . . . Understand?"
We went out and, falling on one another, we stuck to the cleft, in the
wooden walls of the hallway, leading to the yard. We did not have to
wait long. . . . . . . . Soon Tanya passed with a quick pace, skipping over
the plashes of melted snow and mud. Her face looked troubled. She
disappeared behind the cellar door. Then the soldier went there slowly
and whistling. His hands were thrust