“You are flirting,” he thought. “You’re bored and are playing with me for want of anything better to do, while I . . .” Truly his heart was torn.
“Besides, you may be expecting too much,” he said, leaning forward with his whole body and playing with the fringe of his chair.
“Perhaps.
I want everything or nothing.
A life for a life, taking one and giving up another without hesitation and beyond recall.
Or else better have nothing!”
“Well,” observed Bazarov, “those are fair terms, and I’m surprised that so far you . . . haven’t found what you want.”
“And do you think it would be easy to give oneself up entirely to anything?”
“Not easy, if you start reflecting, waiting, estimating your value, appraising yourself, I mean; but to give oneself unreasoningly is very easy.”
“How can one help valuing oneself?
If I have no value, then who needs my devotion?”
“That is not my affair; it is for another person to investigate my value.
The main thing is to know how to devote oneself.”
Madame Odintsov leaned forward from the back of her chair.
“You speak as if you had experienced it all yourself,” she said.
“It happened to come up in the course of our conversation; but all that, as you know, is not in my line.”
“But could you devote yourself unreservedly?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to boast.”
Madame Odintsov said nothing and Bazarov remained silent.
The sounds of the piano floated up to them from the drawing room.
“How is it that Katya is playing so late?” observed Madame Odintsov.
Bazarov got up.
“Yes, it really is late now, time for you to go to bed.”
“Wait a little, why should you hurry? . . . I want to say one word to you.”
“What is it?”
“Wait a little,” whispered Madame Odintsov.
Her eyes rested on Bazarov; it seemed as if she was examining him attentively.
He walked across the room, then suddenly came up to her, hurriedly said “Good-by,” squeezed her hand so that she almost screamed and went out.
She raised her compressed fingers to her lips, breathed on them, then rose impulsively from her armchair and moved rapidly towards the door, as if she wanted to bring Bazarov back . . . A maid entered the room carrying a decanter on a silver tray.
Madame Odintsov stood still, told the maid she could go, and sat down again deep in thought.
Her hair slipped loose and fell in a dark coil over her shoulders.
The lamp went on burning for a long time in her room while she still sat there motionless, only from time to time rubbing her hands which were bitten by the cold night air.
Bazarov returned to his bedroom two hours later, his boots wet with dew, looking disheveled and gloomy.
He found Arkady sitting at the writing desk with a book in his hands, his coat buttoned up to the neck.
“Not in bed yet?” he exclaimed with what sounded like annoyance.
“You were sitting a long time with Anna Sergeyevna this evening,” said Arkady without answering his question.
“Yes, I sat with her all the time you were playing the piano with Katerina Sergeyevna.”
“I was not playing . . .” began Arkady and stopped.
He felt that tears were rising in his eyes and he did not want to cry in front of his sarcastic friend.
Chapter 18
The next day when Madame Odintsov came down to tea, Bazarov sat for a long time bending over his cup, then suddenly glanced up at her . . . she turned towards him as if he had touched her, and he fancied that her face was paler since the night before.
She soon went off to her own room and did not reappear till breakfast.
It had rained since early morning, so that there was no question of going for walks.
The whole party assembled in the drawing room.
Arkady took up the last number of a journal and began to read.
The princess, as usual, first tried to express angry amazement by her facial expression, as though he were doing something indecent, then glared angrily at him, but he paid no attention to her.
“Evgeny Vassilich,” said Anna Sergeyevna, “let us go to my room. I want to ask you . . . you mentioned a textbook yesterday . . . ”
She got up and went to the door.
The princess looked round as if she wanted to say,
“Look at me; see how shocked I am!” and again stared at Arkady, but he merely raised his head, and exchanging glances with Katya, near whom he was sitting, he went on reading.