The Spy

While on his way to Masha to take part in her birthday celebration, the thought occurred to Yevsey:

"I am going to get acquainted with the joiner to-day. He's a revolutionist."

Yevsey was the first guest to arrive. He gave Masha a string of blue beads, and Anfisa a shell comb. In return for the gifts, with which both were greatly pleased, they treated him to tea and nalivka (a sort of wine made of berries with whiskey or water). Masha prettily arching her full white neck looked into his face with a kind smile. Her glance softly caressed his heart, enlivened and emboldened him. Anfisa poured the tea and said winking her eyes:

"Well, merchant, you are our generous donor. When will we celebrate your wedding?"

Yevsey trying not to show his embarrassment, said quietly and confidingly:

"I cannot decide to get married. It's very hard."

"Hard? Oh, you modest man! Marya, do you hear? He says it's hard to get married."

Masha smiled in answer to the cook's loud laugh, looking at Klimkov from the corner of her eyes.

"Maybe he has his own meaning of hard."

"Yes, I have my own meaning," said Yevsey, raising his head. "You see I am thinking of the fact that it is hard to find a person with whom you can live soul to soul, so that the one would not fear the other. It is hard to find a person whom you could believe."

Masha sat beside him. He glanced sidewise at her neck and breast, and sighed.

"Suppose I were to tell them where I work."

He started, frightened by the desire, and with a quick effort he suppressed it.

"If a man does not understand life," he continued, raising his voice, "it's better for him to remain alone."

"For one person to live all alone is hard, too," said Masha, pouring out another glass of nalivka for him. "Drink."

Yevsey longed to speak much and openly. He observed that the women listened to him willingly; and this in conjunction with the two glasses of wine aroused him. But the journalist's servant girl Liza, who came in at that moment also excited, at once usurped the attention of Anfisa and Masha. She was bony and had a cast in one eye. Her hair was handsomely dressed, and she was cleverly gowned. With her sprightly manner she seemed a good forward little girl.

"My good people invited guests for to-day, and did not want to let me go," she said sitting down. "'Well,' said I, 'you can do as you please.' And I went off. Let them bother themselves."

"Many guests?" Klimkov asked wearily, remembering his duty.

"A good many. But what sort of guests! Not one of them ever sticks a dime into your hand. On New Year's all I got was two rubles and thirty kopeks."

"So they're not rich?" asked Yevsey.

"Oh, rich! No! Not one of them has a whole overshoe."

"Who are they? What's their business?"

"Different things. Some write for the newspapers, another is simply a student. Oh, what a good fellow one of them is! He has black eyebrows, and curly hair, and a cute little mustache, white, even teeth – a lively, jolly fellow. He came from Siberia not long ago. He keeps talking about hunting."

Yevsey looked at Liza, and bent his head. He wanted to say "Stop!" to her. Instead he apathetically asked, "I suppose he must have been exiled."

"Who can tell? Maybe. My master and mistress were exiles, too. The sergeant told me so."

"Yes, who nowadays hasn't been an exile?" exclaimed the cook. "I lived at Popov's, an engineer, a rich man. He had his own house and horses and was getting ready to marry. Suddenly the gendarmes came at night, seized him, and broke up everything, and then he was sent off to Siberia."

"I don't condemn my people," Liza interrupted, "not a bit of it. They are good folks. They don't scold. They're not grasping. Altogether they're not like other people. And they're very interesting. They know everything and speak about everything."

Yevsey looked at Masha's ruddy face, and thought:

"I'd better go; I'll ask her about her master next time. But I can't make up my mind to go. If only she kept quiet, the silly!"

"Our people understand everything, too," Masha announced with pride.

"When that affair happened, that revolt in St. Petersburg," Liza began with animation, "they stayed up nights at a time talking."

"Why our people were in your house then," observed the nurse.

"Yes, indeed, there were lots of people at the house. They talked, and wrote complaints. One of them even began to cry. Upon my word!"

"There's enough to cry about," sighed the cook.

"He clutched his head, and sobbed. 'Unhappy Russia!' he said, 'Unhappy people that we are!' They gave him water, and even I got sorry for everybody, and began to cry."

Masha looked around frightened.

"God, when I think of my sister!" She rose and went into the cook's room. The women looked after her sympathetically. Klimkov sighed with relief. Against his will he asked Liza wearily and with an effort:

"To whom did they write complaints?"

"I don't know," answered Liza.

"Marya went off to cry," remarked the cook.

The door opened, and the cook's brother entered coughing.

"It's chilly," he said, untwisting the scarf from his neck.

"Here, take a drink, quick!"

"Yes, indeed. And here's health to you."

He was a thin person, who moved about freely and deliberately. The gravity of his voice did not accord very well with his small light beard and his sharp, somewhat bald skull. His face was small, thin, insignificant, his eyes, large and hazel.

"A revolutionist," was Yevsey's mental observation, as he silently pressed the joiner's hand.

"Time for me to be going," he announced unexpectedly to everybody.

"Where to?" cried Anfisa, unceremoniously seizing his hand. "Say, you merchant, don't break up our company. Look, Matvey, what a present he gave me."

Zimin looked at Yevsey, and said thoughtfully:

"Yesterday they got another order in our factory for fifteen thousand rubles. A drawing-room, a cabinet, a bed-room, and a salon – four rooms. All the orders come from the military. They stole a whole lot of money, and now they want to live after the latest fashion."