A Hero of Our Time [69]
in the darkness. However, out of caution, I walked round the house, as if taking a stroll. Passing Princess Mary's windows, I again heard steps behind me; a man wrapped in a cloak ran by me. That rendered me uneasy, but I crept up to the flight of steps, and hastily mounted the dark staircase. A door opened, and a little hand seized mine. . .
"Nobody has seen you?" said Vera in a whisper, clinging to me.
"Nobody."
"Now do you believe that I love you? Oh! I have long hesitated, long tortured myself. . . But you can do anything you like with me."
Her heart was beating violently, her hands were cold as ice. She broke out into complaints and jealous reproaches. She demanded that I should confess everything to her, saying that she would bear my faithlessness with submission, because her sole desire was that I should be happy. I did not quite believe that, but I calmed her with oaths, promises and so on.
"So you will not marry Mary? You do not love her? . . . But she thinks. . . Do you know, she is madly in love with you, poor girl!" . . .
. . . . .
About two o'clock in the morning I opened the window and, tying two shawls together, I let my- self down from the upper balcony to the lower, holding on by the pillar. A light was still burn- ing in Princess Mary's room. Something drew me towards that window. The curtain was not quite drawn, and I was able to cast a curious glance into the interior of the room. Mary was sitting on her bed, her hands crossed upon her knees; her thick hair was gathered up under a lace-frilled nightcap; her white shoulders were covered by a large crimson kerchief, and her little feet were hidden in a pair of many-coloured Persian slippers. She was sitting quite still, her head sunk upon her breast; on a little table in front of her was an open book; but her eyes, fixed and full of inexpressible grief, seemed for the hundredth time to be skimming the same page whilst her thoughts were far away.
At that moment somebody stirred behind a shrub. I leaped from the balcony on to the sward. An invisible hand seized me by the shoulder.
"Aha!" said a rough voice: "caught! . . . I'll teach you to be entering princesses' rooms at night!"
"Hold him fast!" exclaimed another, spring- ing out from a corner.
It was Grushnitski and the captain of dragoons.
I struck the latter on the head with my fist, knocked him off his feet, and darted into the bushes. All the paths of the garden which covered the slope opposite our houses were known to me.
"Thieves, guard!" . . . they cried.
A gunshot rang out; a smoking wad fell almost at my feet.
Within a minute I was in my own room, undressed and in bed. My manservant had only just locked the door when Grushnitski and the captain began knocking for admission.
"Pechorin! Are you asleep? Are you there?" . . . cried the captain.
"I am in bed," I answered angrily.
"Get up! Thieves! . . . Circassians!" . . .
"I have a cold," I answered. "I am afraid of catching a chill."
They went away. I had gained no useful pur- pose by answering them: they would have been looking for me in the garden for another hour or so.
Meanwhile the alarm became terrific. A Cossack galloped up from the fortress. The com- motion was general; Circassians were looked for in every shrub -- and of course none were found. Probably, however, a good many people were left with the firm conviction that, if only more courage and despatch had been shown by the garrison, at least a score of brigands would have failed to get away with their lives.
CHAPTER XVIII
27th June.
THIS morning, at the well, the sole topic of conversation was the nocturnal attack by the Circassians. I drank the appointed number of glasses of Narzan water, and, after sauntering a few times about the long linden avenue, I met Vera's husband, who had just arrived from Pyati- gorsk. He took my arm and we went to the restaurant for breakfast. He was dreadfully un- easy about his wife.
"What a terrible fright she had
"Nobody has seen you?" said Vera in a whisper, clinging to me.
"Nobody."
"Now do you believe that I love you? Oh! I have long hesitated, long tortured myself. . . But you can do anything you like with me."
Her heart was beating violently, her hands were cold as ice. She broke out into complaints and jealous reproaches. She demanded that I should confess everything to her, saying that she would bear my faithlessness with submission, because her sole desire was that I should be happy. I did not quite believe that, but I calmed her with oaths, promises and so on.
"So you will not marry Mary? You do not love her? . . . But she thinks. . . Do you know, she is madly in love with you, poor girl!" . . .
. . . . .
About two o'clock in the morning I opened the window and, tying two shawls together, I let my- self down from the upper balcony to the lower, holding on by the pillar. A light was still burn- ing in Princess Mary's room. Something drew me towards that window. The curtain was not quite drawn, and I was able to cast a curious glance into the interior of the room. Mary was sitting on her bed, her hands crossed upon her knees; her thick hair was gathered up under a lace-frilled nightcap; her white shoulders were covered by a large crimson kerchief, and her little feet were hidden in a pair of many-coloured Persian slippers. She was sitting quite still, her head sunk upon her breast; on a little table in front of her was an open book; but her eyes, fixed and full of inexpressible grief, seemed for the hundredth time to be skimming the same page whilst her thoughts were far away.
At that moment somebody stirred behind a shrub. I leaped from the balcony on to the sward. An invisible hand seized me by the shoulder.
"Aha!" said a rough voice: "caught! . . . I'll teach you to be entering princesses' rooms at night!"
"Hold him fast!" exclaimed another, spring- ing out from a corner.
It was Grushnitski and the captain of dragoons.
I struck the latter on the head with my fist, knocked him off his feet, and darted into the bushes. All the paths of the garden which covered the slope opposite our houses were known to me.
"Thieves, guard!" . . . they cried.
A gunshot rang out; a smoking wad fell almost at my feet.
Within a minute I was in my own room, undressed and in bed. My manservant had only just locked the door when Grushnitski and the captain began knocking for admission.
"Pechorin! Are you asleep? Are you there?" . . . cried the captain.
"I am in bed," I answered angrily.
"Get up! Thieves! . . . Circassians!" . . .
"I have a cold," I answered. "I am afraid of catching a chill."
They went away. I had gained no useful pur- pose by answering them: they would have been looking for me in the garden for another hour or so.
Meanwhile the alarm became terrific. A Cossack galloped up from the fortress. The com- motion was general; Circassians were looked for in every shrub -- and of course none were found. Probably, however, a good many people were left with the firm conviction that, if only more courage and despatch had been shown by the garrison, at least a score of brigands would have failed to get away with their lives.
CHAPTER XVIII
27th June.
THIS morning, at the well, the sole topic of conversation was the nocturnal attack by the Circassians. I drank the appointed number of glasses of Narzan water, and, after sauntering a few times about the long linden avenue, I met Vera's husband, who had just arrived from Pyati- gorsk. He took my arm and we went to the restaurant for breakfast. He was dreadfully un- easy about his wife.
"What a terrible fright she had