There was no doubt that something sinister had happened to Petenka. But whatever had happened, he, Porfiry Vladimirych, must be above those chance happenings.
"You knew how to get in, then know how to get out." "If the cat wants the fish, let her wet her feet."
Just so. That is what he would say to his son the next day, no matter what Petenka told him.
And suppose Petenka, like Volodya, were also to refuse to take a stone instead of bread?
What if he, too——Yudushka drove the thought from him. It was a diabolical suggestion.
He tossed about and tried in vain to fall asleep.
Whenever sleep seemed about to come, there flashed across his mind maxims such as "I should like to reach the sky but my arms are too short," or "You can't stretch more than the length of your bed," or "Speed is good for nothing but catching fleas."
Twaddle surrounded him on all sides, crawled upon him, crept over him, embraced him.
Under this load of nonsensicality, with which he hoped to regale his soul tomorrow, he could not fall asleep.
Nor could Petenka find sleep, though the journey had tired him exceedingly.
He had an affair that could not be settled anywhere except at Golovliovo, but it was a situation of such a nature that he did not know how to meet it.
Petenka, indeed, realized full well that his case was hopeless and his trip to Golovliovo would only add to the difficulties of his situation. But the primitive instinct of self-preservation in man overcomes all reason and urges him on to try everything to the very last straw.
That's why he had come. But instead of hardening himself so as to be prepared for whatever might come, he had almost from the first word got into a quarrel with his father.
What would be the outcome of this trip? Would a miracle happen? Would stone turn into bread?
Would it not have been simpler to put the revolver to his temple and say, "Gentlemen, I am unworthy of wearing your uniform. I have embezzled crown money and I pronounce a just, though severe sentence upon myself"?
Bang! And all is over.
The deceased Lieutenant Golovliov is hereby struck off the list of officers.
Yes, how radical that would be and—how beautiful!
The comrades would say, "You were unfortunate, you went too far, still you were an honorable man."
But instead of acting that way at once, he had brought the affair to a point where it became a matter of common knowledge; and then he had been given leave of absence for a fixed time on condition that within that time he would refund the embezzled sum.
If not—out of the regiment!
The disgraceful end of his early career! So he had come to Golovliovo, though he knew full well that he would be given a stone instead of bread.
But perhaps a miracle would come to change things.
Miracles sometimes happen. Perhaps the present Golovliovo would vanish and a new Golovliovo would arise, in which he might——And perhaps grandmother would—hadn't she money? Maybe, if he told her he was in great trouble, she might give him some. Who could tell?
"Here," she might say, "hurry, so that you get back before the time is up."
And he rode fast, fast—hurried the driver, just made the train and got to the regiment two hours before the respite was over.
"Good for you, Golovliov," his comrades would say, "your hand, honorable young man! Let's forget the matter."
And he not only remained in the regiment, but was even promoted to staff-captain, then captain, after that adjutant of the regiment (he had been bursar, already) and, finally, on the anniversary day of the regiment——Ah, if only the night would pass quickly!
Tomorrow—well, let happen what may tomorrow.
But what he would have to listen to! Gods, what would he not be told!
Tomorrow—but why tomorrow? He had a whole day yet. He asked for two days just because he wanted to have enough time to move "him." A likely chance! A fine prospect of persuading and touching him!
No use——
Here his thoughts became confused and sank, one after the other, into the mist of sleep.
In a few minutes the Golovliovo manor was steeped in heavy slumber.
The next day the whole household was up early in the morning.
Everybody went to church except Petenka, who pleaded fatigue.
They listened to the mass and the requiem and returned home.
Petenka, as usual, came up to kiss his father's hand, but Yudushka extended it sidewise, and everyone noticed that he did not even make the sign of the cross over his son.
Tea was served, then kutya. Yudushka was dismal, scraped the floor with his feet, avoided conversation, sighed, folded his hands incessantly as if for inner prayer, and never once looked at his son.
Petenka, for his part, bristled up and smoked one cigarette after another.
The strained situation of yesterday, so far from relaxing, became still more acute. It made Arina Petrovna very uneasy, and she decided to find out from Yevpraksia if anything had happened.
"Has anything happened," she asked, "that makes them look daggers at each other like that?"
"How do I know? I don't interfere in their private affairs," the girl snapped back.
"Maybe it's on account of you.
Perhaps my grandson is running after you too?"
"Why should he run after me?
A little while ago he tried to catch hold of me in the corridor, and Porfiry Vladimirych saw him."
"Oh. So that's what it is."
In fact, in spite of his critical situation, Petenka had not lost a bit of his levity.
His eyes riveted themselves on Yevpraksia's powerful back and he determined to let her know about it.