Pyotr Dmitrich acknowledged himself vanquished, and, not caring to be towed, jumped from the Pender- aklia into the boat which was overfull already, and jumped so carelessly that the boat lurched violently, and everyone cried out in terror.
"He did that to please the ladies," thought Olga Mi- hailovna; ''he knows it's charming." Her hands and feet began trembling, as she supposed, from boredom, vex- ation, the strain of smiling, and the discomfort she felt all over her body. And to conceal this trembling from her guests, she tried to talk more loudly, to laugh, to move.
"If I suddenly begin to cry," she thought, "I shall say I have toothache. . . ."
But at last the boats reached the "Island of Good Hope," as they called the peninsula formed by a bend in the river at an acute angle and covered with a copse of birch-trees, oaks, willows, and poplars. The tables were already laid under the trees; the samovars were smoking, and Vasily and Grigory, in their swallowtails and white knitted gloves, were already busy with the tea-things. On the other bank, opposite the Island of Good Hope, there stood the carriages which had come with the provisions. The baskets and parcels of pro- visions were carried across to the island in a canoe like the Penderaklia. The footmen, the coachmen, and even the peasant who rowed the skiff, had the solemn expres- sion befitting a name-day such as one only sees in chil- dren and servants.
While Olga Mihailovna was making the tea and pour- ing out the first glasses, the visitors were busy with the liqueurs and sweets. Then there was the general com- motion usual at picnics over drinking tea, very weari- some and exhausting for the hostess. Grigory and Vasily had hardly had time to take the glasses round before hands were being stretched out to Olga Mihailovna with empty glasses. One wanted tea with no sugar, another wanted it stronger, another weak, a fourth declined an- other glass. And all this Olga Mihailovna had to remem- ber, and then to call, "Ivan Petrovich, is it without sugar for you?" or, "Gentlemen, which of you wanted it weak?" But the guest who had asked for weak tea, or no sugar, had by now forgotten it, and, absorbed in agree- able conversation, took the first glass that came. De- pressed-looking figures wandered like shadows at a little distance from the table, pretending to look for mush- rooms in the grass, or reading the labels on the boxes— these were those for whom there were no glasses. "Have you had tea?'' Olga Mihailovna kept asking, and the guest so addressed begged her not to trouble and said, "I will wait," though it would have suited the hostess better if the visitors did not wait but made haste.
Some, absorbed in conversation, drank their tea slowly, keeping their glasses for half an hour; others, especially some who had drunk a good deal at dinner, would not leave the table and kept on drinking glass after glass, so that Olga Mihailovna scarcely had time to fill them. One young wag sipped his tea through a lump of sugar and kept saying, "Sinful man that I am, I love to indulge myself with the Chinese herb." He kept asking with a heavy sigh: "Another rotsherd of tea more, if you please." He drank a great deal, nibbled at his sugar, and thought it all very amusing and original, and imagined that he was doing a clever imitation of a Russian merchant. None of them understood that these trifles were agonizing to their hostess, and, indeed, it was hard to understand it, as Olga Mihailovna went on all the time smiling affably and talking nonsense.
But she felt ill. . . . She was irritated by the crowd of people, the laughter, the questions, the young wag, the footmen harassed and run off their legs, the children who hung round the table; she was irritated at Vata's being like Nata, at Kolya's being like Mitya, so that one could not tell which of them had had tea and which of them had not. She felt that her smile of forced affability was passing into an expression of anger, and she felt every minute as though she would burst into tears.
"Rain, gentlemen," cried someone.
Everyone looked at the sky.
"Yes, it really is rain . . ." Pyotr Dmitrich assented, and wiped his cheek.
Only a few drops were falling from the sky—the real rain had not begun yet; but the company abandoned their tea and made haste to leave. At first they all wanted to drive home in the carriages, but changed their minds and made for the boats. On the pretext that she had to hasten home to give directions about the sup- per, Olga Mihailovna asked to be excused for leaving the others, and went home in a carriage.
When she got into the carriage, she first of all gave her face a rest from smiling. With an angry face she drove through the village and with an angry face ac- knowledged the bows of the peasants she met. When she got horne, she went to the bedroom by the back way and lay down on her husband's bed.
"Merciful God!" she whispered. "What is all this hard labor for? Why do all these people jostle each other here and pretend that they are enjoying themselves? Why do I smile and lie? I don't understand it."
She heard steps and voices. The visitors had come back.
"Let them come," thought Olga Mihailovna; "I shall lie a little longer."
But a maidservant carne and said:
"Marya Grigoryevna is going, Madam."
Olga Mihailovna jumped up, tidied her hair and hur- ried out of the room.
"Marya Grigoryevna, what is the meaning of this?" she Degan in an injured voice, going to meet Marya Grigoryevna. ''Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I can't help it, darlingl I've stayed too long as it is; my children are expecting me horne."
"It's too bad of you! Why didn't you bring your chil- dren with you?"
"If you will let me, dear, I will bring them on some ordinary day, but today—"
"Oh, please do," Olga Mihailovna interrupted. "I shall be delighted! Your children are so sweet! Kiss them all for me. . . . But, really, you've hurt my feelings! I don't understand why you are in such a hurry!"
"I reaUy must, I really must. . . . Good-by, dear. Take care of yourself. In your condition, you know . . ."
And the ladies kissed each other. After seeing the de- parting guest to her carriage, Olga Mihailovna went in to the ladies in the drawing-room. There the l^ps were already lighted and the gentlemen were sitting down to cards.
IV
The party broke up after supper about a quarter past twelve. Seeing her visitors off, Olga Mihailovna stood at the door and said:
"You really ought to take a shawl! It's turning a little chilly. You may catch cold, God forbid!"
"Don't trouble, Olga Mihailovna," the ladies an- swered as they got into the carriage. "Well, good-by. Mind now, we are expecting you; don't disappoint us!''
"Whoa!" the coachman checked the horses.
"Let's go, Denis! Good-by, Olga Mihailovna!"
"Kiss the children for me!"
The carriage started and immediately disappeared into the darkness. In the red circle of light cast by the lamp on the road a fresh pair or a team of three im- patient horses and the silhouette of a coachman with his arms held out stiffiy before him would come into view. Again there began kisses, reproaches, and en- treaties to come again or to take a shawl. Pyotr Dmitrich kept running out and helping the ladies into their car- riages.
"You go now by Yefremovshchina," he directed the coachman. "It's nearer through Mankino, but the road is worse that way. You might take a tumble. . . . Good-by, my charmer. Mille compliments to your art- ist!"
"Good-by, Olga Mihailovna, darling! Go indoors, or you will catch cold! It's damp!"
"Whoa! you rascal!"
"What horses have you got here?" Pyotr Dmitrich asked.
210 the portable chekhov
"Tiey were bought from Haydarov, in Lent," an- swered the coachman.
"Capital horses. . . ."
And Pyotr Dmitrich patted the trace horse on the haunch.
"Well, you can start! God give you good luck!"
The last visitor was gone at last; the red circle on the road quivered, moved aside, contracted and went out, as Vasily carried away the lamp from the porch. On previous occasions when they had seen off their visitors, Pyotr Dmitrich and Olga Mihailovna had begun danc- ing about the drawing-room, facing each other, clapping their hands and singing: "They're gone! They're gone!" But now Olga Mihailovna was not equal to that. She went to her bedroom, undressed, and got into bed.