Before they reached the town gates, where instead of a sentry there stood a dilapidated sentry box, the Frenchman ordered the driver to stop, got out of the britzka, and continued on foot, explaining by signs to the coachman that he was leaving him the britzka and the suitcase as a tip. The coachman was as amazed at his generosity as the Frenchman himself had been at Dubrovsky’s offer. But, concluding that the foreigner had lost his mind, the coachman thanked him with a zealous bow and, deciding it might be best not to drive into the town, headed for a certain pleasure establishment he knew and whose owner was a good acquaintance. There he spent the whole night, and the next morning he set out for home on an empty troika, without the britzka and without the suitcase, his face puffy and his eyes red.
Dubrovsky, having come into possession of the Frenchman’s papers, boldly presented himself to Troekurov and, as we have seen, settled in his house. Whatever his secret intentions were (we shall learn of them later), there was nothing reprehensible in his behavior. True, he paid scant attention to little Sasha’s education, gave him full freedom to romp about, and was not terribly demanding in his lessons, assigning them only for the sake of form; however, he followed with great diligence the young lady’s musical successes and often sat with her at the piano for hours at a time. Everybody loved the young tutor: Kirila Petrovich for his bold agility at hunting; Marya Kirilovna for his boundless zeal and shy attentiveness; Sasha for his indulgence towards his pranks; the domestics for his kindness and for a generosity apparently incompatible with his position. He himself, it seemed, was attached to the whole family and considered himself already a member of it.
About a month went by from his entering into his tutorial position till the memorable feast day, and no one suspected that in the modest young Frenchman was hidden the fearsome robber whose name inspired terror in all the neighboring landowners. During all that time Dubrovsky never absented himself from Pokrovskoe, but the rumors of his robberies did not subside, thanks to the inventive imagination of the village dwellers, though it might also be that his band continued to be active in the absence of their chief.
Spending the night in the same room with a man whom he could consider his personal enemy and one of the chief perpetrators of his misfortune, Dubrovsky could not resist the temptation. He knew of the existence of the pouch and decided to lay hands on it. We saw how he astounded poor Anton Pafnutych by his unexpected transformation from tutor into robber.
At nine o’clock in the morning, the guests who had spent the night in Pokrovskoe gathered one by one in the drawing room, where a samovar was at the boil, beside which Marya Kirilovna sat in a morning dress, and Kirila Petrovich, in a flannel jacket and slippers, was emptying his wide cup, which resembled a barber’s basin. The last to appear was Anton Pafnutych; he was so pale and seemed so upset that the sight of him struck everybody, and Kirila Petrovich inquired after his health. Spitsyn made a senseless reply and glanced in terror at the tutor, who sat right there as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later a servant came in and announced that Spitsyn’s carriage was ready. Anton Pafnutych hurriedly made his bows and, despite the host’s insistence, quickly left the room and drove off at once. No one understood what had happened to him, and Kirila Petrovich decided that he had overeaten. After tea and a farewell breakfast the other guests began to depart, Pokrovskoe was soon deserted, and everything settled into its usual order.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Several days went by and nothing noteworthy happened. The life of Pokrovskoe’s inhabitants was monotonous. Kirila Petrovich went out hunting every day; reading, walks, and music lessons occupied Marya Kirilovna, especially music lessons. She was beginning to understand her own heart and acknowledged, with involuntary vexation, that it was not indifferent to the young Frenchman’s merits. He, for his part, never went beyond the bounds of respect and strict propriety, and thus set her pride and fearful doubts at ease. With greater and greater trustfulness she gave herself to the captivating habit. She was bored without Desforges, in his presence she was constantly preoccupied with him, wanted to know his opinion about everything, and always agreed with him. Maybe she was not yet in love, but at the first chance obstacle or contrariness of fate, the flame of passion was bound to flare up in her heart.
