lazy, and he drawled his vowels carelessly. A smile of bored politeness wandered listlessly over his face.
Subsequently, when the Zovolzhians had had an opportunity to get to know Vladimir Lvovich better, it became clear that such was his usual manner when he first spoke with people new to him, if he had not set himself the goal of producing a particular impression on the other party. This rendered even more powerful the effect of the sudden metamorphoses, when listlessness and idle talk were replaced by forcefulness and the unexpected touché —for Bubentsov was a perfect master of this technique.
With the baron and baroness he began a conversation about all sorts of inconsequentialities having nothing at all to do with the purpose of his visit: about how tiring his journey had been, about the latest fashions, about the advantages that English horses possessed over Arabian ones. Anton Antonovich listened attentively, agreeing with everything and trying to gauge how dangerous this windbag was. At the same time, he himself affected a well-intentioned dullness of wit, in which, let us note, he was remarkably successful. The conclusion reached by the baron was not reassuring: Bubentsov appeared to be dangerous, and even extremely so.
As a matter of principle, Ludmila Platonovna did not take part in the worldly conversation, but sat with a severe expression on her face, examining with distaste the remarkably small, elegant hands of this dangerous official as they toyed with a lace fan (the evening had proved muggy) and thinking that here they had a would-be Count Nulin.
It took the visitor only five minutes to realize which of them was the more important and he almost completely stopped looking at the governor, directing his words exclusively to the governor’s wife. This gave the impression that he was taking pleasure in irritating Ludmila Platonovna with that bored, condescending glance from under his superb lashes. This outrageous inspection made her feel very uncomfortable, as if she had received her visitor in an incomplete state of dress.
Toward the end of the half-hour visit the following incident occurred. The secretary looked into the hall and the baron apologized and walked across to the desk to sign some important document (in fact, we even know which document it was—the removal of excise duty from the book trade). Immediately Bubentsov inquired in the same lazy manner, without changing his tone of voice or expression: “I have heard, my dear Ludmila Platonovna, that you are extremely active in charity work? They say that you are quite indefatigable? Praiseworthy, most praiseworthy…”
Stung by the tone in which these words were spoken, the governor’s wife replied dryly, even acidly: “And what pastime, pray, could possibly be more worthy for a woman in my position?”
An eyebrow so regular that it seemed painted rose in astonishment, and one glinting eye gazed straight into Ludmila Platonovna’s soul, while the other, on the contrary, shrank and became almost invisible.
“Why, what a question. One can see immediately that you have never loved and, I think, do not even have any idea of what love is.”
His hostess blushed, but could not think of anything to say, and in any case she felt doubtful whether she had heard right, because the strange words had been pronounced without the slightest expression. At this point Anton Antonovich returned, so that the moment for a rebuff was in any case lost.
For another five minutes or so after that the visitor chatted about some nonsense or other, but now the governor’s wife watched him differently, with an air of either fright or anticipation.
And as he was already taking his leave and stepping up to her hand (this time for some reason Ludmila Platonovna offered no resistance to the kiss) the inspector whispered: “The whole of life will slip through your fingers like that. It’s a sin.”
He was an adroit man—he took advantage of the fact that just
Subsequently, when the Zovolzhians had had an opportunity to get to know Vladimir Lvovich better, it became clear that such was his usual manner when he first spoke with people new to him, if he had not set himself the goal of producing a particular impression on the other party. This rendered even more powerful the effect of the sudden metamorphoses, when listlessness and idle talk were replaced by forcefulness and the unexpected touché —for Bubentsov was a perfect master of this technique.
With the baron and baroness he began a conversation about all sorts of inconsequentialities having nothing at all to do with the purpose of his visit: about how tiring his journey had been, about the latest fashions, about the advantages that English horses possessed over Arabian ones. Anton Antonovich listened attentively, agreeing with everything and trying to gauge how dangerous this windbag was. At the same time, he himself affected a well-intentioned dullness of wit, in which, let us note, he was remarkably successful. The conclusion reached by the baron was not reassuring: Bubentsov appeared to be dangerous, and even extremely so.
As a matter of principle, Ludmila Platonovna did not take part in the worldly conversation, but sat with a severe expression on her face, examining with distaste the remarkably small, elegant hands of this dangerous official as they toyed with a lace fan (the evening had proved muggy) and thinking that here they had a would-be Count Nulin.
It took the visitor only five minutes to realize which of them was the more important and he almost completely stopped looking at the governor, directing his words exclusively to the governor’s wife. This gave the impression that he was taking pleasure in irritating Ludmila Platonovna with that bored, condescending glance from under his superb lashes. This outrageous inspection made her feel very uncomfortable, as if she had received her visitor in an incomplete state of dress.
Toward the end of the half-hour visit the following incident occurred. The secretary looked into the hall and the baron apologized and walked across to the desk to sign some important document (in fact, we even know which document it was—the removal of excise duty from the book trade). Immediately Bubentsov inquired in the same lazy manner, without changing his tone of voice or expression: “I have heard, my dear Ludmila Platonovna, that you are extremely active in charity work? They say that you are quite indefatigable? Praiseworthy, most praiseworthy…”
Stung by the tone in which these words were spoken, the governor’s wife replied dryly, even acidly: “And what pastime, pray, could possibly be more worthy for a woman in my position?”
An eyebrow so regular that it seemed painted rose in astonishment, and one glinting eye gazed straight into Ludmila Platonovna’s soul, while the other, on the contrary, shrank and became almost invisible.
“Why, what a question. One can see immediately that you have never loved and, I think, do not even have any idea of what love is.”
His hostess blushed, but could not think of anything to say, and in any case she felt doubtful whether she had heard right, because the strange words had been pronounced without the slightest expression. At this point Anton Antonovich returned, so that the moment for a rebuff was in any case lost.
For another five minutes or so after that the visitor chatted about some nonsense or other, but now the governor’s wife watched him differently, with an air of either fright or anticipation.
And as he was already taking his leave and stepping up to her hand (this time for some reason Ludmila Platonovna offered no resistance to the kiss) the inspector whispered: “The whole of life will slip through your fingers like that. It’s a sin.”
He was an adroit man—he took advantage of the fact that just
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