Historical fiction; Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction
Many of them expected to be thrown downstairs at once, without further
ceremony, the elegant and irresistible Zaleshoff among them. But the
party led by the athlete, without openly showing their hostile
intentions, silently nursed contempt and even hatred for Nastasia
Philipovna, and marched into her house as they would have marched into
an enemy’s fortress. Arrived there, the luxury of the rooms seemed to
inspire them with a kind of respect, not unmixed with alarm. So many
things were entirely new to their experience—the choice furniture, the
pictures, the great statue of Venus. They followed their chief into the
salon, however, with a kind of impudent curiosity. There, the sight of
General Epanchin among the guests, caused many of them to beat a hasty
retreat into the adjoining room, the “boxer” and “beggar” being among
the first to go. A few only, of whom Lebedeff made one, stood their
ground; he had contrived to walk side by side with Rogojin, for he
quite understood the importance of a man who had a fortune of a million
odd roubles, and who at this moment carried a hundred thousand in his
hand. It may be added that the whole company, not excepting Lebedeff,
had the vaguest idea of the extent of their powers, and of how far they
could safely go. At some moments Lebedeff was sure that right was on
their side; at others he tried uneasily to remember various cheering
and reassuring articles of the Civil Code.
Rogojin, when he stepped into the room, and his eyes fell upon
Nastasia, stopped short, grew white as a sheet, and stood staring; it
was clear that his heart was beating painfully. So he stood, gazing
intently, but timidly, for a few seconds. Suddenly, as though bereft of
his senses, he moved forward, staggering helplessly, towards the table.
On his way he collided against Ptitsin’s chair, and put his dirty foot
on the lace skirt of the silent lady’s dress; but he neither apologized
for this, nor even noticed it.
On reaching the table, he placed upon it a strange-looking object,
which he had carried with him into the drawing-room. This was a paper
packet, some six or seven inches thick, and eight or nine in length,
wrapped in an old newspaper, and tied round three or four times with
string.
Having placed this before her, he stood with drooped arms and head, as
though awaiting his sentence.
His costume was the same as it had been in the morning, except for a
new silk handkerchief round his neck, bright green and red, fastened
with a huge diamond pin, and an enormous diamond ring on his dirty
forefinger.
Lebedeff stood two or three paces behind his chief; and the rest of the
band waited about near the door.
The two maid-servants were both peeping in, frightened and amazed at
this unusual and disorderly scene.
“What is that?” asked Nastasia Philipovna, gazing intently at Rogojin,
and indicating the paper packet.
“A hundred thousand,” replied the latter, almost in a whisper.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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