"Will you have the lamps lighted, Barina?" he inquired, respectfully.
"No. You may go. Close the door."
The old butler looked at them knowingly; then withdrew.
Kseniya turned at once to Polunin.
"I have told you everything. How is it you have not understood? Drink
up your tea."
"Tell me again," he pleaded.
"Take your tea first; pour out the rum. I repeat I have already told
you all. You remember about the mice? Did you not understand that?"
Kseniya Ippolytovna sat erect in her chair; she spoke coldly, in the
same distant tone in which she had addressed the butler.
Polunin shook his head: "No, I haven't understood."
"Dear me, dear me!" she mocked, "and you used to be so quick-witted,
my ascetic. Still, health and happiness do not always sharpen the
wits. You are healthy and happy, aren't you?"
"You are being unjust again," Polunin protested. "You know very well
that I love you."
Kseniya Ippolytovna gave a short laugh: "Oh, come, come! None of
that!" She drank her glass of tea feverishly, threw herself back in
the chair, and was silent.
Polunin also took his, warming himself after his cold drive.
She spoke again after a while in a quiet dreamy tone: "In this stove,
flames will suddenly flare up, then die away, and it will become
cold. You and I have always had broken conversations. Perhaps the
Arkhipovs are right--when it seems expedient, kill! When it seems
expedient, breed! That is wise, prudent, honest.
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