Fifty-Two Stories

At exactly eight o’clock she stood up and, saying a dry, cold “Au revoir, monsieur,” left the study; after her lingered that same delicate, subtle, tantalizing fragrance. Again for a long time the pupil did nothing, sat at the desk, and thought.

In the following days he became convinced that his tutor was a nice, serious, and punctual young lady, but that she was very ignorant and did not know how to teach adults; and he decided not to waste his time, to let her go and invite another tutor. When she came for the seventh time, he took an envelope with seven roubles from his pocket and, holding it in his hands, became very abashed and began thus:

“Forgive me, Alisa Osipovna, but I must tell you…by force of necessity…”

Seeing the envelope, the Frenchwoman realized what it was about, and for the first time since they began their lessons, her face quivered, and the cold, businesslike expression vanished. She blushed slightly and, lowering her eyes, nervously began to finger her fine gold chain. And Vorotov, looking at her embarrassment, realized how much a rouble meant to her and how hard it would be for her to lose this income.

“I must tell you…,” he murmured, still more embarrassed, and in his breast something skipped a beat; he hastily shoved the envelope into his pocket and went on. “Forgive me, I…I’ll leave you for ten minutes…”

Pretending that he did not intend to dismiss her, but was only asking her permission to leave her for a short time, he went to another room and sat out the ten minutes. Then he returned more embarrassed still; he realized that she might have interpreted his brief absence in her own way, and he felt awkward.

The lessons began again.

Vorotov studied now without any enthusiasm. Knowing that the sessions were of no use, he gave free rein to the Frenchwoman, no longer asked her anything, and did not interrupt. She translated as she liked, up to ten pages per lesson, and he did not listen, breathed heavily, and, having nothing to do, studied her curly head, or her neck, or her soft white hands, inhaled the fragrance of her dress…

He caught himself having improper thoughts, was ashamed, or else he waxed tender-hearted, and was then upset and annoyed that she was so cold and businesslike with him, as with a pupil, never smiling and as if afraid he might accidentally touch her. He kept wondering how he could inspire her trust, become closer friends with her, and then help her, give her to understand how badly she teaches, poor thing.

Once Alisa Osipovna appeared at a lesson in a fancy pink dress with a slight décolleté, and she gave off such a fragrance that it seemed she was wrapped in a cloud, that if you blew on her, she would fly off into the air or scatter like smoke. She apologized and said she could teach for only half an hour, because after the lesson she would be going straight to a ball.

He looked at her neck and at her back, bare behind her neck, and understood, as it seemed to him, why Frenchwomen enjoyed a reputation as frivolous and easily yielding creatures; he was drowning in this cloud of fragrance, beauty, nakedness, while she, unaware of his thoughts and most likely not interested in them in the least, quickly turned the pages and translated at full steam:

“He was walking on the street and was meeting his mister acquaintance, and said: ‘Where are you precipitating to, seeing your face so pale, it does me hurt.’ ”

The Mémoires had long been finished, and now Alisa was translating some other book. Once she came to the lesson an hour early, excusing herself with having to go to the Maly Theater³ at seven. Having seen her out after the lesson, Vorotov dressed and also went to the theater. He went, as it seemed to him, only in order to relax, to amuse himself, and he did not even think about Alisa. He could not allow that a serious man, preparing for a scholarly career, so hard to budge, dropped everything and went to the theater only so as to meet there an unintelligent, poorly educated girl whom he barely knew…

But for some reason during the intermissions his heart pounded, and, not noticing it himself, he ran around the foyer and the corridors like a boy, impatiently searching for someone; and he felt disheartened when the intermission drew to an end; but when he saw the familiar pink dress and the beautiful shoulders under the tulle, his heart was wrung, as if in anticipation of happiness, he smiled joyfully, and for the first time in his life experienced the feeling of jealousy.