As she smiled, her likeness to Sanine became more remarkable, and, in
her sweet, girlish voice she said calmly: "Here I am. Why are you hurrying away? Victor Sergejevitsch, do put
down your cap!"
Sanine was silent, and looked at his sister in amazement. "Whatever
does she mean?" he thought to himself.
As soon as she appeared, a mysterious influence, at once irresistible
and tender, seemed to make itself felt. Like a lion-tamer in a cage
filled with wild beasts, Lida stood there, and the men at once became
gentle and submissive.
"Well, do you know, Lidia Petrovna ..." stammered Sarudine.
At the sound of his voice, Lida's face assumed a plaintive, helpless
expression, and as she glanced swiftly at him there was great grief at
her heart not unmixed with tenderness and hope. Yet in a moment such
feelings were effaced by a fierce desire to show Sarudine how much he
had lost in losing her; to let him see that she was still beautiful, in
spite of all the sorrow and shame that he had caused her to endure.
"I don't want to know anything," she replied in an imperious, almost a
stagy voice, as for a moment she closed her eyes.
Upon Volochine, her appearance produced an extraordinary effect, as his
sharp little tongue darted out from his dry lips, and his eyes grew
smaller and his whole frame vibrated from sheer physical excitement.
"You haven't introduced us," said Lida, looking round at Sarudine.
"Volochine ... Pavel Lvovitsch ..." stammered the officer.
"And this beauty," he said to himself, "was my mistress." He felt
honestly pleased to think this, at the same time being anxious to show
off before Volochine, while yet bitterly conscious of an irrevocable
loss.
Lida languidly addressed her mother.
"There is some one who wants to speak to you," she said.
"Oh! I can't go now," replied Maria Ivanovna.
"But they are waiting," persisted Lida, almost hysterically.
Maria Ivanovna got up quickly.
Sanine watched Lida, and his nostrils were dilated.
"Won't you come into the garden? It's so hot in here," said Lida, and
without looking round to see if they were coming, she walked out
through the veranda.
As if hypnotized, the men followed her, bound, seemingly, with the
tresses of her hair, so that she could draw them whither she wished.
Volochine walked first, ensnared by her beauty, and apparently
oblivious of aught else.
Lida sat down in the rocking-chair under the linden-tree and stretched
out her pretty little feet clad in black open-work stockings and tan
shoes. It was as if she had two natures; the one overwhelmed with
modesty and shame, the other, full of self-conscious coquetry. The
first nature prompted her to look with disgust upon men, and life, and
herself.