Sanine

Volochine owned immense works in St. Petersburg upon which the

existence of thousands of his employés depended.

At the present time, while a strike was in progress, be had turned his

back upon the crowd of hungry, dirty malcontents, and was enjoying a

trip in the provinces. Libertine as he was, he thought of nothing but

women, and in young, fresh, provincial women he displayed an intense,

in fact, an absorbing interest. He pictured them as delightfully shy

and timid, yet sturdy as a woodland mushroom, and their provocative

perfume of youth and purity he scented from afar.

Volochine had clothed his puny little body in virgin white, after

sprinkling himself from head to foot with various essences; and,

although he did not exactly approve of Sarudine's society, he hailed a

droschky and hastened to the latter's rooms.

Sarudine was sitting at the window, drinking cold tea.

"What a lovely evening!" he kept saying to himself, as he looked out on

the garden. But his thoughts were elsewhere. He felt ashamed and

afraid.

He was afraid of Lida. Since their interview, he had not set eyes on

her. To him she seemed another Lida now, unlike the one that had

surrendered to his passion.

"Anyhow," he thought, "the matter is not at an end yet. The child must

be got rid of ... or shall I treat the whole thing as a joke? I wonder

what she is doing now?"

He seemed to see before him Lida's handsome, inscrutable eyes, and her

lips tightly compressed, vindictive, menacing.

"She may be going to pay me out? A girl of that sort isn't one to be

trifled with. At all costs I shall have to ..."

The prospect of a huge scandal vaguely suggested itself, striking

terror to his craven heart.

"After all," he thought, "what could she possibly do?" Then suddenly it

all seemed quite clear and simple. "Perhaps she'll drown herself? Let

her go to the deuce! I didn't force her to do it! They'll say that she

was my mistress--well, what of that? It only proves that I am a good-

looking fellow. I never said that I would marry her. Upon my word, it's

too silly!" Sarudine shrugged his shoulders, yet the sense of

oppression was not lessened. "People will talk, I expect, and I shan't

be able to show myself," he thought, while his hand trembled slightly

as he held the glass of cold, over-sweetened tea to his lips.

He was as smart and well-groomed and scented as ever, yet it seemed as

if, on his face, his white jacket, and his hands, and even on his

heart, there was a foul stain which became even greater.