"What a smell of chipre there is, Mintz," she murmured in a low
voice. "I think I must be tipsy. Yes, I must be. When I drink a great
deal I always begin to think there are too many perfumes about. They
suffocate me, I get their taste in my mouth, they sing in my ears and
I feel ill.... What a smell of chipre ... it is my favourite perfume:
do you smell it?"
She looked at Mintz with a half dazed stare, then continued:
"In an hour's time I shall be having hysterics. It is always the way
when I drink too much. I don't feel cheerful any longer, I feel
melancholy now, Mintz. I feel now as though ... as though I have wept
on this sofa all through the night ... Oh, how happy we used to be
once upon a time," she sighed tearfully, then added with a giggle.
"Why I hardly know what I am saying!"
Mintz was walking up and down the room, measuring his steps extremely
carefully. He halted in front of Lydia Constantinovna, removed his
glasses and scowled:
"But I, when I drink, I begin to see things with extraordinary
clearness: I see that we are melancholy because the devil only knows
why or for what we are living; I see that life is impossible without
faith; that our hearts and minds are exhausted with the endless
discussions in cafes, attics and promenades. I realise that no matter
what happens, villainy will always exist.
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