"Who is it?" Bazarov brought out unwillingly.
"Kukshina, _Eudoxie_, Evdoksya Kukshin. She"s a remarkable nature, _emancipee_ in the true sense of the word, an advanced woman. Do you know what? We"ll all go together to see her now. She lives only two steps from here. We will have lunch there. I suppose you have not lunched yet?"
"No; not yet."
"Well, that"s capital. She has separated, you understand, from her husband; she is not dependent on any one."
"Is she pretty?" Bazarov cut in.
"N-no, one couldn"t say that."
"Then, what the devil are you asking us to see her for?"
"Fie; you must have your joke.... She will give us a bottle of champagne."
"Oh, that"s it. One can see the practical man at once. By the way, is your father still in the gin business?"
"Yes," said Sitnikov, hurriedly, and he gave a shrill spasmodic laugh.
"Well? Will you come?"
"I don"t really know."
"You wanted to see people, go along," said Arkady in an undertone.
"And what do you say to it, Mr. Kirsanov?" Sitnikov put in. "You must come too; we can"t go without you."
"But how can we burst in upon her all at once?"
"That"s no matter. Kukshina"s a brick!"
"There will be a bottle of champagne?" asked Bazarov.
"Three!" cried Sitnikov; "that I answer for."
"What with?"
"My own head."
"Your father"s purse would be better. However, we are coming."
CHAPTER XIII
The small gentleman"s house in the Moscow style, in which Avdotya Nikitishna, otherwise Evdoksya, Kukshin, lived, was in one of the streets of X----, which had been lately burnt down; it is well known that our provincial towns are burnt down every five years. At the door, above a visiting card nailed on all askew, there was a bell-handle to be seen, and in the hall the visitors were met by some one, not exactly a servant, nor exactly a companion, in a cap--unmistakable tokens of the progressive tendencies of the lady of the house. Sitnikov inquired whether Avdotya Nikitishna was at home.
"Is that you, _Victor_?" sounded a shrill voice from the adjoining room. "Come in."
The woman in the cap disappeared at once.
"I"m not alone," observed Sitnikov, with a sharp look at Arkady and Bazarov as he briskly pulled off his overcoat, beneath which appeared something of the nature of a coachman"s velvet jacket.
"No matter," answered the voice. "_Entrez_."
The young men went in. The room into which they walked was more like a working study than a drawing-room. Papers, letters, fat numbers of Russian journals, for the most part uncut, lay at random on the dusty tables; white cigarette ends lay scattered in every direction. On a leather-covered sofa, a lady, still young, was half reclining. Her fair hair was rather dishevelled; she wore a silk gown, not perfectly tidy, heavy bracelets on her short arms, and a lace handkerchief on her head.
She got up from the sofa, and carelessly drawing a velvet cape trimmed with yellowish ermine over her shoulders, she said languidly, "Good-morning, _Victor_," and pressed Sitnikov"s hand.
"Bazarov, Kirsanov," he announced abruptly in imitation of Bazarov.
"Delighted," answered Madame Kukshin, and fixing on Bazarov a pair of round eyes, between which was a forlorn little turned-up red nose, "I know you," she added, and pressed his hand too.
Bazarov scowled. There was nothing repulsive in the little plain person of the emanc.i.p.ated woman; but the expression of her face produced a disagreeable effect on the spectator. One felt impelled to ask her, "What"s the matter; are you hungry? Or bored? Or shy? What are you in a fidget about?" Both she and Sitnikov had always the same uneasy air.
She was extremely unconstrained, and at the same time awkward; she obviously regarded herself as a good-natured, simple creature, and all the while, whatever she did, it always struck one that it was not just what she wanted to do; everything with her seemed, as children say, done on purpose, that"s to say, not simply, not naturally.
"Yes, yes, I know you, Bazarov," she repeated. (She had the habit--peculiar to many provincial and Moscow ladies--of calling men by their surnames from the first day of acquaintance with them.) "Will you have a cigar?"
"A cigar"s all very well," put in Sitnikov, who by now was lolling in an armchair, his legs in the air; "but give us some lunch. We"re awfully hungry; and tell them to bring us up a little bottle of champagne."
"Sybarite," commented Evdoksya, and she laughed. (When she laughed the gum showed above her upper teeth.) "Isn"t it true, Bazarov; he"s a Sybarite?"
"I like comfort in life," Sitnikov brought out, with dignity. "That does not prevent my being a Liberal."
"No, it does; it does prevent it!" cried Evdoksya. She gave directions, however, to her maid, both as regards the lunch and the champagne.
"What do you think about it?" she added, turning to Bazarov. "I"m persuaded you share my opinion."
"Well, no," retorted Bazarov; "a piece of meat"s better than a piece of bread even from the chemical point of view."
"You are studying chemistry? That is my pa.s.sion. I"ve even invented a new sort of composition myself."
"A composition? You?"
"Yes. And do you know for what purpose? To make dolls" heads so that they shouldn"t break. I"m practical, too, yon see. But everything"s not quite ready yet. I"ve still to read Liebig. By the way, have you read Kislyakov"s article on Female Labour, in the _Moscow Gazette_? Read it please. You"re interested in the woman question, I suppose? And in the schools too? What does your friend do? What is his name?"
Madame Kukshin shed her questions one after another with affected negligence, not waiting for an answer; spoilt children talk so to their nurses.
"My name"s Arkady Nikolaitch Kirsanov," said Arkady, "and I"m doing nothing."
Evdoksya giggled. "How charming! What, don"t you smoke? Victor, do you know, I"m very angry with you."
"What for?"
"They tell me you"ve begun singing the praises of George Sand again. A retrograde woman, and nothing else! How can people compare her with Emerson! She hasn"t an idea on education, nor physiology, nor anything.
She"d never, I"m persuaded, heard of embryology, and in these days--what can be done without that?" (Evdoksya even threw up her hands.) "Ah, what a wonderful article Elisyevitch has written on that subject! He"s a gentleman of genius." (Evdoksya constantly made use of the word "gentleman" instead of the word "man.") "Bazarov, sit by me on the sofa. You don"t know, perhaps, I"m awfully afraid of you."
"Why so? Allow me to ask."