Kukishev watched this ocean of luxury and burned with envy.
He conceived a desire to lead a similar life and have just such a mistress.
That would put an end to the monotony of provincial life. One night he would spend with Lyulkin's queen, the next night with his own queen.
That was the dream of his life, the ambition of an imbecile, who is the more obstinate in his strivings the greater his stupidity.
Anninka seemed to be the most suitable person for the realization of his hopes.
But Anninka would not surrender.
She was still new to the stir of passion, although she had had numerous suitors and had been rather free in her relations with them.
At one time she even thought she was ready to fall in love with the local tragedian Miloslavsky X, who was consumed with passion for her.
But Miloslavsky X was so hare-brained and so persistently drunk that he never told her of his love, only stared at her and stolidly hiccoughed when she passed by.
So the love affair never ripened.
The other suitors Anninka considered as something in the nature of indispensable furniture, to which a provincial actress is doomed by the very conditions of her profession.
She submitted to these conditions, and took advantage of their minor privileges, such as applause, bouquets, drives, picnics, etc., but further than this so to speak external dissipation, she did not go.
She persisted in this manner of conduct.
During the whole summer she had kept to the path of virtue, jealously guarding her honor, as if anxious to show the Volpino priest that moral strength can be found even among actresses.
Once she even decided to complain about Kukishev to the governor, who listened to her with kindly favor and commended her for her heroism.
But seeing that her complaint was an indirect attack on his own person as the governor of the province, he added that, having spent all his strength against the internal enemy, he strongly doubted whether he could be of any use.
Hearing this, Anninka blushed and went away.
Meanwhile Kukishev acted so artfully that he succeeded in making the public take an interest in his efforts.
People suddenly became convinced that Kukishev was right and that Pogorelskaya I, as she was dubbed on the posters, only looked as if butter would not melt in her mouth.
A whole clique was formed with the express purpose of taming the refractory upstart.
The campaign was started by several habitues of the theatre who gradually began to hang around her dressing-room and made their nest in the adjoining room belonging to Miss Nalimova.
Then, without exhibiting direct enmity, the audiences began to receive Pogorelskaya I, when she appeared on the stage, with a disheartening reserve, as if she were not the star actress, but some insignificant dumb performer.
At last the clique insisted that the manager take some parts away from Anninka and give them to Nalimova.
And what was most curious, the most important part in this underhand intrigue was played by Lubinka, whose confidant was Nalimova.
Toward autumn Anninka was surprised to find that she was compelled to play the role of Orestes in Fair Helen, and only Pericola had been left to her of all her main parts.
That was because Nalimova would not dare to vie with her in the role. In addition, the manager notified her that in view of her cold reception by the audiences, her salary would be reduced to seventy-five rubles a month, with only half the proceeds of one benefit during the year.
Anninka lost courage, because with so small a salary she would have to move from the hotel to an inn.
She wrote letters to two or three managers offering her services, but invariably received the answer that they were actually flooded with applicants for the Pericola role, and besides, they had learned of her shrewish obstinacy from reliable sources, and so could not foresee any hopes of her success.
Anninka was now living on her last savings.
Another week and she would have to move to the inn and live with Khoroshavina, who was playing Parthenis and was favored with the attention of a constable.
She began to yield to despair, especially since a mysterious hand put a note into her room every day containing the same words,
"Pericola, submit.
Your Kukishev."
And at the critical moment Lubinka most unexpectedly rushed in.
"Tell me, please, for what prince are you saving your treasure?" she asked curtly.
Anninka was taken aback.
First of all she was amazed to find that both the Volpino priest and Lubinka employed the same word "treasure" for maidenly honor.
Only the priest had regarded it as the "foundation of life," while Lubinka looked upon it as a mere trifle over which the "rascally males" go mad.
Then she involuntarily questioned herself, What is this "treasure," anyhow? Is it really a treasure and is it really worth hoarding? Alas, she could find no satisfactory answer to her questions.
On one hand, it is rather shameful to remain without honor, and on the other——Ah, the devil take it! And could it be that the whole purpose, the whole merit of her existence consisted in struggling every moment of her life to maintain this treasure?
"In only six months I have succeeded in getting thirty bonds," Lubinka continued, "and lots of things. Look what a dress I have on!"
Lubinka turned about, pulled at the front, then at the sides, letting herself be examined.
The dress was really an expensive one and unusually well made. It came straight from Minangois in Moscow.
"Kukishev is a kind sort," Lubinka resumed. "He will dress you up like a doll, and he will give you money.
You'll be able to send the theatre to the devil. You have had enough of it."
"Never!" cried Anninka heatedly. She had not as yet forgotten the phrase, "sacred art."
"You may remain if you wish to.
You will get your former salary again and outstrip Nalimova."
Anninka was silent.
"Well, good-by.