creature you are!» he said, emphatically.

«Marvellous! Really marvellous! What hair! What eyes! And your

eyebrows … ough!»

Colibri laughed again and again looked round with her magnificent

eyes.

«Yes, I am a beauty! Sit down, and I’ll sit down … beside.»

«By all means! But say what you like, you are a strange sister for

Emilie! You are not in the least like her.»

«Yes, I am sister … cousin. Here … take … a flower. A nice

flower. It smells.» She took out of her girdle a sprig of white lilac,

sniffed it, bit off a petal and gave him the whole sprig. «Will you

have jam? Nice jam … from Constantinople … sorbet?» Colibri took

from the small chest of drawers a gilt jar wrapped in a piece of

crimson silk with steel spangles on it, a silver spoon, a cut glass

decanter and a tumbler like it. «Eat some sorbet, sir; it is fine. I

will sing to you…. Will you?» She took up the guitar.

«You sing, then?» asked Kuzma Vassilyevitch, putting a spoonful of

really excellent sorbet into his mouth.

«Oh, yes!» She flung back her mane of hair, put her head on one side

and struck several chords, looking carefully at the tips of her

fingers and at the top of the guitar … then suddenly began singing

in a voice unexpectedly strong and agreeable, but guttural and to the

ears of Kuzma Vassilyevitch rather savage. «Oh, you pretty kitten,» he

thought. She sang a mournful song, utterly un-Russian and in a

language quite unknown to Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He used to declare that

the sounds «Kha, gha» kept recurring in it and at the end she repeated

a long drawn-out «sintamar» or «sintsimar,» or something of the sort,

leaned her head on her hand, heaved a sigh and let the guitar drop on

her knee. «Good?» she asked, «want more?»

«I should be delighted,» answered Kuzma Vassilyevitch. «But why do you

look like that, as though you were grieving? You’d better have some

sorbet.»

«No … you. And I will again…. It will be more merry.» She sang

another song, that sounded like a dance, in the same unknown language.

Again Kuzma Vassilyevitch distinguished the same guttural sounds. Her

swarthy fingers fairly raced over the strings, «like little spiders,»

and she ended up this time with a jaunty shout of «Ganda» or «Gassa,»

and with flashing eyes banged on the table with her little fist.

XVI

Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat as though he were in a dream. His head was

going round. It was all so unexpected…. And the scent, the

singing … the candles in the daytime … the sorbet flavoured with

vanilla. And Colibri kept coming closer to him, too; her hair shone and

rustled, and there was a glow of warmth from her—and that melancholy

face…. «A russalka!» thought Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He felt somewhat

awkward.

«Tell me, my pretty, what put it into your head to invite me to-day?»

«You are young, pretty … such I like.»

«So that’s it! But what will Emilie say? She wrote me a letter: she is

sure to be back directly.»

«You not tell her … nothing! Trouble! She will kill!»

Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed.

«As though she were so fierce!»

Colibri gravely shook her head several times.

«And to Madame Fritsche, too, nothing. No, no, no!» She tapped herself

lightly on the forehead. «Do you understand, officer?»

Kuzma Vassilyevitch frowned.

«It’s a secret, then?»

«Yes … yes.»

«Very well…. I won’t say a word. Only you ought to give me a kiss

for that.»

«No, afterwards … when you are gone.»

«That’s a fine idea!» Kuzma Vassilyevitch was bending down to her but

she slowly drew herself back and stood stiffly erect like a snake

startled in the grass. Kuzma Vassilyevitch stared at her. «Well!» he

said at last, «you are a spiteful thing! All right, then.»

Colibri pondered and turned to the lieutenant…. All at once there

was the muffled sound of tapping repeated three times at even

intervals somewhere in the house. Colibri laughed, almost snorted.

«To-day—no, to-morrow—yes. Come to-morrow.»

«At what time?».

«Seven … in the evening.»

«And what about Emilie?»

«Emilie … no; will not be here.»

«You think so? Very well. Only, to-morrow you will tell me?»

«What?» (Colibri’s face assumed a childish expression every time she

asked a question.)

«Why you have been hiding away from me all this time?»

«Yes … yes; everything shall be to-morrow; the end shall be.»

«Mind now! And I’ll bring you a present.»

«No … no need.»

«Why not? I see you like fine clothes.»

«No need. This … this … this …» she pointed to her dress, her

rings, her bracelets, and everything about her, «it is all my own. Not

a present. I do not take.»

«As you like. And now must I go?»

«Oh, yes.»

Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up. Colibri got up, too.

«Good-bye, pretty little doll! And when will you give me a kiss?»

Colibri suddenly gave a little jump and swiftly flinging both arms

round his neck, gave him not precisely a kiss but a peck at his lips.

He tried in his turn to kiss her but she instantly darted back and

stood behind the sofa.

«To-morrow at seven o’clock, then?» he said with some confusion.

She nodded and taking a tress of her long hair with her two fingers,

bit it with her sharp teeth.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch kissed his hand to her, went out and shut the door

after him. He heard Colibri run up to it at once…. The key clicked

in the lock.

XVII

There was no one in Madame Fritsche’s drawing-room. Kuzma

Vassilyevitch made his way to the passage at once. He did not want to

meet Emilie. Madame Fritsche met him on the steps.

«Ah, you are going, Mr. Lieutenant?» she said, with the same affected

and sinister smile. «You won’t wait for Emilie?»

Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on his cap.

«I haven’t time to wait any longer, madam. I may not come to-morrow,

either. Please tell her so.»

«Very good, I’ll tell her. But I hope you haven’t been dull, Mr.

Lieutenant?»

«No, I have not been dull.»

«I thought not. Good-bye.»

«Good-bye.»

Kuzma Vassilyevitch returned home and stretching himself on his bed

sank into meditation. He was unutterably perplexed. «What marvel is

this?» he cried more than once. And why did Emilie write to him? She

had made an appointment and not come! He took out her letter, turned

it over in his hands, sniffed it: it smelt of tobacco and in one place

he noticed a correction. But what could he deduce from that? And was

it possible that Madame Fritsche knew nothing about it? And

she…. Who was she? Yes, who was she? The fascinating Colibri,

that «pretty doll,» that «little image,» was always before him and he

looked forward with impatience to the following evening, though

secretly he was almost afraid of this «pretty doll» and «little

image.»

XVIII

Next day Kuzma Vassilyevitch went shopping before dinner, and, after

persistent haggling, bought a tiny gold cross on a little velvet

ribbon. «Though she declares,» he thought, «that she never takes

presents, we all know what such sayings mean; and if she really is so

disinterested, Emilie won’t be so squeamish.» So argued this Don Juan

of Nikolaev, who had probably never heard of the original Don Juan and

knew nothing about him. At six o’clock in the evening Kuzma

Vassilyevitch shaved carefully and sending for a hairdresser he knew,

told him to pomade and curl his topknot, which the latter did with

peculiar zeal, not sparing the government note paper for curlpapers;

then Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on a smart new uniform, took into his

right hand a pair of new wash-leather gloves, and, sprinkling himself

with lavender water, set off. Kuzma Vassilyevitch took a great deal

more trouble over his personal appearance on this occasion than when

he went to see his «Zuckerpüppchen», not because he liked Colibri

better than Emilie but in the «pretty little doll» there was something

enigmatic, something which stirred even the sluggish imagination of

the young lieutenant.

XIX

Madame Fritsche greeted him as she had done the day before and as

though she had conspired with him in a plan of deception, informed him

again that Emilie had gone out for a short time and asked him to wait.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch nodded in token of assent and sat down on a chair.

Madame Fritsche smiled again, that is, showed her yellow tusks and

withdrew without offering him any chocolate.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch instantly fixed his eyes on the mysterious door.

It remained closed. He coughed loudly once or twice so as to make

known his presence…. The door did not stir. He held his breath,

strained his ears…. He heard not the faintest sound or rustle;

everything was still as death. Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up, approached

the door on tiptoe and, fumbling in vain with his fingers, pressed his

knee against it. It was no use. Then he bent down and once or twice

articulated in a loud whisper, «Colibri! Colibri! Little doll!» No one

responded. Kuzma Vassilyevitch drew himself up, straightened his

uniform—and, after standing still a little while, walked with more

resolute steps to the window and began drumming on the pane. He began

to feel vexed, indignant; his dignity as an officer began to assert

itself. «What nonsense is this?» he thought at last; «whom do they

take me for? If they go on like this, I’ll knock with my fists. She

will be forced to answer! The old woman will hear…. What of it?

That’s not my fault.» He turned swiftly on his heel … the door stood

half open.

XX

Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately hastened into the secret room again on

tiptoe. Colibri was lying on the sofa in a white dress with a broad

red sash. Covering the lower part of her face with a handkerchief, she

was laughing, a noiseless but genuine laugh. She had done up her hair,

this time plaiting it into two long, thick plaits intertwined with red

ribbon; the same slippers adorned her tiny, crossed feet but the feet

themselves were bare and looking at them one might fancy that she had

on dark, silky stockings. The sofa stood in a different position,

nearer the wall; and on the table he saw on a Chinese tray a

bright-coloured, round-bellied coffee pot beside a cut glass sugar bowl

and two blue China cups. The guitar was lying there, too, and blue-grey

smoke rose in a thin coil from a big, aromatic candle.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch went up