it was seven o’clock in the evening. mrs. shaldin and her trunk had arrived hardly half an hour before, yet the captain’s wife was already there paying visit; which was a sign of the warm friendship that existed between the two women. they kissed each other and fell to talking. the doctor, a tall man of forty-five, seemed discomfited by the visit, and passed unfriendly side glances at his guest. he had hoped to spend that evening undisturbed with his wife, and he well knew that when the ladies of the regiment came to call upon each other “for only a second,” it meant a whole evening of listening to idle talk.
“you wouldn’t believe me, dear, how bored i was the whole time you were away, how i longed for you, natalie semyonovna. but you probably never gave us a thought.”
“oh, how can you say anything like that. i was thinking of you every minute, every second. if i hadn’t been obliged to finish the cure, i should have returned long ago. no matter how beautiful it may be away from home, still the only place to live is among those that are near and dear to you.”
these were only the preliminary soundings. they lasted with variations for a quarter of an hour. first mrs. shaldin narrated a few incidents of the trip, then mrs. zarubkin gave a report of some of the chief happenings in the life of the regiment. when the conversation was in full swing, and the samovar was singing on the table, and the pancakes were spreading their appetising odour, the captain’s wife suddenly cried:
“i wonder what the fashions are abroad now. i say, you must have feasted your eyes on them!”
mrs. shaldin simply replied with a scornful gesture.
“other people may like them, but i don’t care for them one bit. i am glad we here don’t get to see them until a year later. you know, tatyana grigoryevna, you sometimes see the ugliest styles.”
“really?” asked the captain’s wife eagerly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. the great moment of complete revelation seemed to have arrived.
“perfectly hideous, i tell you. just imagine, you know how nice the plain skirts were. then why change them? but no, to be in style now, the skirts have to be draped. why? it is just a sign of complete lack of imagination. and in lyons they got out a new kind of silk—but that is still a french secret.”
“why a secret? the silk is certainly being worn already?”
“yes, one does see it being worn already, but when it was first manufactured, the greatest secret was made of it. they were afraid the germans would imitate. you understand?”
“oh, but what is the latest style?”
“i really can’t explain it to you. all i know is, it is something awful.”
“she can’t explain! that means she doesn’t want to explain. oh, the cunning one. what a sly look she has in her eyes.” so thought the captain’s wife. from the very beginning of the conversation, the two warm friends, it need scarcely be said, were mutually distrustful. each had the conviction that everything the other said was to be taken in the very opposite sense. they were of about the same age, mrs. shaldin possibly one or two years younger than mrs. zarubkin. mrs. zarubkin was rather plump, and had heavy light hair. her appearance was blooming. mrs. shaldin was slim, though well proportioned. she was a brunette with a pale complexion and large dark eyes. they were two types of beauty very likely to divide the gentlemen of the regiment into two camps of admirers. but women are never content with halves. mrs. zarubkin wanted to see all the officers of the regiment at her feet, and so did mrs. shaldin. it naturally led to great rivalry between the two women, of which they were both conscious, though they always had the friendliest smiles for each other.
mrs. shaldin tried to give a different turn to the conversation.
“do you think the ball will be interesting this year?”
“why should it be interesting?” rejoined the captain’s wife scornfully. “always the same people, the same old humdrum jog-trot.”
“i suppose the ladies have been besieging our poor abramka?”
“i really can’t tell you. so far as i am concerned, i have scarcely looked at what he made for me.”
“hm, how’s that? didn’t you order your dress from moscow again?”
“no, it really does not pay. i am sick of the bother of it all. why all that trouble? for whom? our officers don’t care a bit how one dresses. they haven’t the least taste.”
“hm, there’s something back of that,” thought mrs. shaldin.
the captain’s wife continued with apparent indifference:
“i can guess what a gorgeous dress you had made abroad. certainly in the latest fashion?”
“i?” mrs. shaldin laughed innocently. “how could i get the time during my cure to think of a dress? as a matter of fact, i completely forgot the ball, thought of it at the last moment, and bought the first piece of goods i laid my hands on.”
“pink?”
“oh, no. how can you say pink!”
“light blue, then?”
“you can’t call it exactly light blue. it is a very undefined sort of colour. i really wouldn’t know what to call it.”
“but it certainly must have some sort of a shade?”
“you may believe me or not if you choose, but really i don’t know. it’s a very indefinite shade.”
“is it sura silk?”
“no, i can’t bear sura. it doesn’t keep the folds well.”
“i suppose it is crãªpe de chine?”
“heavens, no! crãªpe de chine is much too expensive for me.”
“then what can it be?”
“oh, wait a minute, what is the name of that goods? you know there are so many funny new names now. they don’t make any sense.”
“then show me your dress, dearest. do please show me your dress.”
mrs. shaldin seemed to be highly embarrassed.
“i am so sorry i can’t. it is way down at the bottom of the trunk. there is the trunk. you see yourself i couldn’t unpack it now.”
the trunk, close to the wall, was covered with oil cloth and tied tight with heavy cords. the captain’s wife devoured it with her eyes. she would have liked to see through and through it. she had nothing to say in reply, because it certainly was impossible to ask her friend, tired out from her recent journey, to begin to unpack right away and take out all her things just to show her her new dress. yet she could not tear her eyes away from the trunk. there was a magic in it that held her enthralled. had she been alone she would have begun to unpack it herself, nor even have asked the help of a servant to undo the knots. now there was nothing left for her but to turn her eyes sorrowfully away from the fascinating object and take up another topic of conversation to which she would be utterly indifferent. but she couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. mrs. shaldin must have prepared herself beforehand. she must have suspected something. so now mrs. zarubkin pinned her last hope to abramka’s inventiveness. she glanced at the clock.
“dear me,” she exclaimed, as if surprised at the lateness of the hour. “i must be going. i don’t want to disturb you any longer either, dearest. you must be very tired. i hope you rest well.”
she shook hands with mrs. shaldin, kissed her and left.
