The sick girl was as playful as a little child, coquetted with the old man, laughed at him, told him her dreams, always had some new invention and made him tell her stories, too; and the old man was so pleased, so happy, looking at his “little daughter, Nellie,” that he was more and more delighted with her every day.
“God has sent her to us to make up to us all for our suffering,” he said to me once as he left Nellie at night, after making the sign of the cross over her as usual.
In the evenings, when we were all together (Masloboev was there too, almost every evening), our old doctor often dropped in. He had become warmly attached to the Ichmenyevs. Nellie was carried up to the round table in her easychair.
The door was opened on to the veranda.
We had a full view of the green garden in the light of the setting sun, and from it came the fragrance of the fresh leaves and the opening lilac.
Nellie sat in her easychair, watching us all affectionately and listening to our talk; sometimes she grew more animated, and gradually joined in the conversation, too.
But at such moments we all usually listened to her with uneasiness, because in her reminiscences there were subjects we did not want touched upon.
Natasha and I and the Ichmenyevs all felt guilty and recognized the wrong we had done her that day when, tortured and quivering, she had been forced to tell us all her story.
The doctor was particularly opposed to these reminiscences and usually tried to change the conversation.
At such times Nellie tried to seem as though she did not notice our efforts, and would begin laughing with the doctor or with Nikolay Sergeyitch.
And yet she grew worse and worse.
We became extraordinarily impressionable.
Her heart was beating irregularly.
The doctor told me, indeed, that she might easily die at any moment.
I did not tell the Ichmenyevs this for fear of distressing them, Nikolay Sergeyitch was quite sure that she would recover in time for the journey.
“There’s father come in,” said Natasha, hearing his voice.
“Let us go, Vanya.”
Nikolay Sergeyitch, as usual, began talking loudly as soon as he had crossed the threshold.
Anna Andreyevna was gesticulating at him.
The old man subsided at once and, seeing Natasha and me, began with a hurried air telling us in a whisper of the result of his expedition. He had received the post he was trying for and was much pleased.
“In a fortnight we can set off,” he said, rubbing his hands and anxiously glancing askance at Natasha.
But she responded with a smile and embraced him so that his doubts were instantly dissipated.
“We’ll be off, we’ll be off, my dears!” he said joyfully.
It’s only you, Vanya, leaving you, that’s the rub... (I may add that he never once suggested that I should go with them, which, from what I know of his character, he certainly would have done . . . under other circumstances, that is, if he had not been aware of my love for Natasha.)
“Well, it can’t be helped, friends, it can’t be helped!
It grieves me, Vanya; but a change of place will give us all new life ... A change of place means a change of everything!” he added, glancing once more at his daughter.
He believed that and was glad to believe it.
“And Nellie?” said Anna Andreyevna.
“Nellie?
Why . . . the little darling’s still poorly, but by that time she’ll certainly be well again.
She’s better already, what do you think, Vanya?” he said, as though alarmed, and he looked at me uneasily, as though it was for me to set his doubts at rest.
“How is she?
How has she slept?
Has anything gone wrong with her?
Isn’t she awake now?
Do you know what, Anna Andreyevna, we’ll move the little table out on to the veranda, we’ll take out the samovar; our friends will be coming, we’ll all sit there and Nellie can come out to us . . . That’ll be nice.
Isn’t she awake yet?
I’ll go in to her.
I’ll only have a look at her. I won’t wake her. Don’t be uneasy!” he added, seeing that Anna Andreyevna was making signals to him again.
But Nellie was already awake.
A quarter of an hour later we were all sitting as usual round the samovar at evening tea.
Nellie was carried out in her chair.
The doctor and Masloboev made their appearance.
The latter brought a big bunch of lilac for Nellie, but he seemed anxious and annoyed about something, Masloboev, by the way, came in almost every evening.
I have mentioned already that all of them liked him very much, especially Anna Andreyevna, but not a word was spoken among us about Alexandra Semyonovna. Masloboev himself made no allusion to her.
Anna Andreyevna, having learned from me that Alexandra Semyonovna had not yet succeeded in becoming his legal wife, had made up her mind that it was impossible to receive her or speak of her in the house.
This decision was maintained, and was very characteristic of Anna Andreyevna.
But for Natasha’s being with her, and still more for all that had happened, she would perhaps not have been so squeamish.
Nellie was particularly depressed that evening and even preoccupied.
It was as though she had had a bad dream and was brooding over it.