Mme Stahl had lived abroad in the south for a period of more than ten years, never getting out of bed. Some said that she had made a social position for herself as a virtuous, highly religious woman, while others said that she was at heart that same highly moral being she made herself out to be, living only for the good of others. No one knew what religion she adhered to - Catholic, Orthodox or Protestant - but one thing was certain: she was in friendly relations with the highest persons of all Churches and confessions.
Varenka lived permanently abroad with her, and all who knew Mme Stahl, knew and loved Mlle Varenka, as everyone called her.
Having learned all these details, the princess found nothing reprehensible in her daughter making friends with Varenka, especially since Varenka had the very best manners and upbringing: she spoke excellent French and English and, above all, conveyed regrets from Mme Stahl that, owing to her illness, she was deprived of the pleasure of making the princess’s acquaintance.
Once she had made Varenka’s acquaintance, Kitty became more and more charmed by her friend and found new virtues in her every day.
The princess, on hearing that Varenka sang well, invited her to come to them in the evening to sing.
‘Kitty plays, and we have a piano, not a good one, true, but you will give us great pleasure,’ the princess said with her false smile, which was now especially unpleasant for Kitty because she noticed that Varenka did not want to sing. But Varenka nevertheless came in the evening and brought with her a book of music. The princess invited Marya Evgenyevna with her daughter and the colonel.
Varenka seemed perfectly indifferent to the fact that there were people there whom she did not know, and went to the piano at once. She could not accompany herself, but vocally she could sight-read music wonderfully. Kitty, who played well, accompanied her.
‘You have extraordinary talent,’ the princess said to Varenka, after she had sung the first piece beautifully.
Marya Evgenyevna and her daughter thanked and praised her.
‘Look,’ said the colonel, glancing out the window, ‘what an audience has gathered to listen to you.’ Indeed, a rather big crowd had gathered by the windows.
‘I’m very glad that it gives you pleasure,’ Varenka replied simply.
Kitty looked at her friend with pride. She admired her art, and her voice, and her face, but most of all she admired her manner, the fact that Varenka evidently did not think much of her singing and was perfectly indifferent to praise; she seemed to ask only: must I sing more, or is that enough?
‘If it were me,’ Kitty thought to herself, ‘how proud I’d be! How I’d rejoice, looking at this crowd by the windows! And she is perfectly indifferent. She is moved only by the wish not to say no and to do something nice for
The next piece in the book was an Italian song. Kitty played the prelude, which she liked very much, and turned to Varenka.
‘Let’s skip this one,’ Varenka said, blushing.
Kitty rested her timorous and questioning eyes on Varenka’s face.
‘Well, another then,’ she said hastily, turning the pages, understanding immediately that something was associated with that piece.
‘No,’ replied Varenka, putting her hand on the score and smiling, ‘no, let’s sing it.’ And she sang as calmly, coolly and well as before.
When she had finished, everyone thanked her again and went to have tea. Kitty and Varenka went out to the little garden near the house.
‘Am I right that you have some memory associated with that song?’ Kitty said. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she added hastily, ‘just say - am I right?’
‘No, why not? I’ll tell you,’ Varenka said simply and, without waiting for a response, went on: ‘Yes, there is a memory, and it was painful once. I was in love with a man, and I used to sing that piece for him.’
Kitty, her big eyes wide open, gazed silently and tenderly at Varenka.
‘I loved him and he loved me; but his mother didn’t want it, and he married someone else. He lives not far from us now, and I sometimes meet him. You didn’t think that I, too, could have a love story?’ she said, and in her beautiful face there barely glimmered that fire which, Kitty felt, had once lit up her whole being.
‘Of course I did! If I were a man, I wouldn’t be able to love anyone after knowing you. I just don’t understand how he could forget you to please his mother and make you unhappy. He had no heart.’
‘Oh, no, he’s a very good man, and I’m not unhappy; on the contrary, I’m very happy. Well, so we won’t sing any more today?’ she added, heading for the house.
