CHAPTER II

Anninka had gone downhill very fast. It was true that her first visit to Golovliovo had aroused the consciousness of being a "lady," of having her own nest and her own graves, of not being confined in her life to the squalor and uproar of hotels and inns, and of having a shelter where she would be safe from vile breaths infected with the odor of wine and the stable, from hoarse voices, bloodshot eyes, indecent gestures. But alas! No sooner did Golovliovo disappear from sight than this purifying consciousness vanished from her mind.

Anninka had gone from Golovliovo straight to Moscow, and solicited a position on the government stage both for herself and her sister. With this in view she turned for aid to _maman,_ that is, the directress of the boarding-school where she had been educated, and to several of her classmates. _Maman_ was at first quite kind to her, but as soon as she discovered that her former pupil had acted on the provincial stage, her pleasant manner changed to one of haughtiness and sternness. As for Anninka's classmates, who were mostly married women, they eyed her with an impertinent astonishment that quite frightened her. Only one of them, better-natured than the rest, asked her, evidently wishing to show sympathy:

"Tell me, darling, is it true that when you actresses dress for the stage, officers lace your corsets?"

In a word, her attempts to gain a foothold in Moscow remained unsuccessful. The truth of the matter was, she did not possess the necessary qualifications for theatrical success in the capital. She and her sister Lubinka belonged to that class of lively, but not very talented actresses who play one part all their lives. Anninka had made a hit in _Pericola,_ Lubinka in _Pansies_ and _Old-time Colonels,_ and whatever new rôles they studied strangely resembled their successful parts, or, in the majority of cases, were a complete failure. Anninka often had to play _Fair Helen_ also. She would wear a flaming red wig over her ash-colored hair, and cut her tunic down to her waist line, but she was mediocre and dull, not even cynical. From _Fair Helen_ she passed to the _Duchess of Herolstein._ In this her colorless acting was coupled with a completely preposterous _mise en scène_, and the outcome was altogether miserable. At last she undertook to play the role of Clairette in _The White Slave._ But she overdid her part to such an extent that even the none too refined provincial public was shocked by her behavior on the stage, which she turned into a mire of corruption. Anninka gained the reputation of being a clever actress with a fairly good voice, and since she was pretty, she could get an audience in the provinces. But that was all. Lacking individuality, she could not attain permanent success. Even among the provincial public she was popular mainly with army officers, whose chief ambition was to obtain access behind the scenes. She could have got an engagement in the capital only if she had been forced upon some manager by a powerful patron, and even then the public would have given her the unenviable nickname of "a tavern singer."

Thus the two girls had to go back to the provinces. In Moscow Anninka received a letter from Lubinka, saying that their company had removed from Krechetov to the city of Samovarnov, which made Lubinka quite glad, because there she had become friendly with a certain zemstvo leader, who was so infatuated that he was almost, in his own words, "ready to steal the zemstvo funds, if that were necessary to gratify all her desires."

In fact, on her arrival in Samovarnov, Anninka found her sister quite luxuriously situated and planning to give up the stage. Lubinka's admirer, the zemstvo official Gavrilo Stepanych Lyulkin, was a retired captain of the Hussars, recently a _bel homme,_ but now somewhat corpulent. His appearance and manners and views taken separately were conspicuously noble, but taken together they gave one the strong impression that the man was altogether free from scruples. Lubinka received Anninka with open arms and told her a room had been prepared for her at the lodgings.

Anninka, still under the influence of her trip to Golovliovo, bridled up at the suggestion. The sisters exchanged tart words, and soon afterwards they separated. Involuntarily Anninka recalled the words of the Volpino parson, who had told her it was hard to safeguard a maiden's "honor" in the acting profession.

Anninka went to live at a hotel and broke off all relations with her sister. Easter passed. The next week the theatres opened, and Anninka found out that her sister's place was already filled by Nalimova, a girl from Kazan, a mediocre actress, but utterly unconstrained in the movements of her body. As usual, Anninka played _Pericola_ and enchanted the Samovarnov theatregoers. On her return to the hotel, she found an envelope in her room containing a hundred ruble bill and a laconic note which read: "Should anything happen, you get as much. Merchant Kukishev, dealer in fancy goods." Anninka was enraged and went to complain to the hotel-keeper. He told her Kukishev had this peculiar habit of greeting the newly arrived actresses, and otherwise was a harmless man and it did not pay to take offence. Anninka sealed up the letter and the money in an envelope, sent it back the very next day, and regained her composure.

But Kukishev was more persistent than the hotel-keeper had reported him to be. He was among Lyulkin's friends and was on good terms with Lubinka. He was quite well-to-do and, besides, as a member of the city administration was in a most convenient position with regard to the city treasury. And like Lyulkin, boldness was not his least virtue. According to the taste of market people he possessed a seductive appearance, reminding one of the beetle, which, as the song has it, Masha found in the fields instead of berries:

/$ "A beetle black, and on his crown Nice curly hair, with whiskers smart, His eyebrows colored a dark-brown, The picture of my own sweetheart." $/

Being the happy possessor of such looks he thought he had the right to be aggressive, all the more so as Lubinka explicitly promised him her cooperation.

Lubinka, apparently, had burned all her bridges, and her reputation was by no means a pleasant topic in her sister's ears. Every night, it was said, a merry band caroused in her rooms from midnight till morning, Lubinka presiding and appearing as a "gypsy," half naked (at this, Lyulkin, addressing his intoxicated friends, would cry out, "Look, there's a breast!") and with loosened hair. She would sing to the accompaniment of a guitar:

/$ "How I did love it with my mash, Who had the darlingest mustache!" $/

Anninka listened to the stories about her sister and became greatly worried. What surprised her most was that Lubinka sang the ditty about the "mash who had the darlingest mustache" in a gypsy-like manner, just like the celebrated Matryusha of Moscow. Anninka always gave her sister due credit, and had she been told that Lubinka sang couplets from _Old-time Colonels_ with unsurpassed excellence, she would have considered it quite natural and would have readily believed it. The theatergoers of Kursk, Tambov and Penza had not yet forgotten with what inimitable naïveté Lubinka sang the most atrocious ambiguities in her soft little voice. But that Lubinka could sing like a gypsy--pardon me! A lie! She, Anninka, could sing like that, no doubt of it. It was her genre, her business, and everyone in Kursk who had seen her in the play, _Russian Romances Personified,_ would willingly testify to it.

Anninka would take the guitar, sling the striped sash over her shoulder, sit down on a chair, cross her legs and begin: "I-ekh! I-akh!" It was the very manner of Matryusha the gypsy.

However that may have been, one thing was certain, that Lubinka was extravagant. And Lyulkin, for fear of introducing a discordant note into the drunken bliss, had already resorted to borrowing from the zemstvo treasury. Not to speak of the tremendous amount of champagne which was both consumed and poured out on the floor in Lubinka's quarters, all sorts of things had to be provided to feed her growing capriciousness and extravagance. First it was dresses from Mme. Minangois of Moscow, then jewelry from Fuld. Lubinka was rather thrifty and did not scorn valuables. Her licentiousness by no means interfered with her love of gold, diamonds and especially lottery bonds. At any rate, it was a life not of gaiety, but of boisterous debauchery and continuous intoxication.

There was one thorn in the rose-bush. It was necessary for Lubinka to curry favor with the chief of police. Although a friend of Lyulkin's, he sometimes liked to make his power felt, and Lubinka always guessed when he was dissatisfied with her hospitality, for the next day the police warden would come to ask for her passport. And she yielded. In the morning she would treat the district chief of police to vodka and a light repast, while in the evening she would personally prepare a "Swedish" punch of which he was very fond.

Kukishev watched this ocean of luxury and burned with envy. He conceived a desire to lead a similar life and have just such a mistress. That would put an end to the monotony of provincial life. One night he would spend with Lyulkin's queen, the next night with his own queen. That was the dream of his life, the ambition of an imbecile, who is the more obstinate in his strivings the greater his stupidity. Anninka seemed to be the most suitable person for the realization of his hopes.

But Anninka would not surrender. She was still new to the stir of passion, although she had had numerous suitors and had been rather free in her relations with them. At one time she even thought she was ready to fall in love with the local tragedian Miloslavsky X, who was consumed with passion for her. But Miloslavsky X was so hare-brained and so persistently drunk that he never told her of his love, only stared at her and stolidly hiccoughed when she passed by. So the love affair never ripened. The other suitors Anninka considered as something in the nature of indispensable furniture, to which a provincial actress is doomed by the very conditions of her profession. She submitted to these conditions, and took advantage of their minor privileges, such as applause, bouquets, drives, picnics, etc., but further than this so to speak external dissipation, she did not go.

She persisted in this manner of conduct. During the whole summer she had kept to the path of virtue, jealously guarding her honor, as if anxious to show the Volpino priest that moral strength can be found even among actresses. Once she even decided to complain about Kukishev to the governor, who listened to her with kindly favor and commended her for her heroism. But seeing that her complaint was an indirect attack on his own person as the governor of the province, he added that, having spent all his strength against the internal enemy, he strongly doubted whether he could be of any use. Hearing this, Anninka blushed and went away.

Meanwhile Kukishev acted so artfully that he succeeded in making the public take an interest in his efforts. People suddenly became convinced that Kukishev was right and that Pogorelskaya I, as she was dubbed on the posters, only looked as if butter would not melt in her mouth. A whole clique was formed with the express purpose of taming the refractory upstart. The campaign was started by several habitués of the theatre who gradually began to hang around her dressing-room and made their nest in the adjoining room belonging to Miss Nalimova. Then, without exhibiting direct enmity, the audiences began to receive Pogorelskaya I, when she appeared on the stage, with a disheartening reserve, as if she were not the star actress, but some insignificant dumb performer. At last the clique insisted that the manager take some parts away from Anninka and give them to Nalimova. And what was most curious, the most important part in this underhand intrigue was played by Lubinka, whose confidant was Nalimova.

Toward autumn Anninka was surprised to find that she was compelled to play the rôle of Orestes in _Fair Helen_, and only Pericola had been left to her of all her main parts. That was because Nalimova would not dare to vie with her in the rôle. In addition, the manager notified her that in view of her cold reception by the audiences, her salary would be reduced to seventy-five rubles a month, with only half the proceeds of one benefit during the year.

Anninka lost courage, because with so small a salary she would have to move from the hotel to an inn. She wrote letters to two or three managers offering her services, but invariably received the answer that they were actually flooded with applicants for the Pericola rôle, and besides, they had learned of her shrewish obstinacy from reliable sources, and so could not foresee any hopes of her success.

Anninka was now living on her last savings. Another week and she would have to move to the inn and live with Khoroshavina, who was playing _Parthenis_ and was favored with the attention of a constable. She began to yield to despair, especially since a mysterious hand put a note into her room every day containing the same words, "Pericola, submit. Your Kukishev." And at the critical moment Lubinka most unexpectedly rushed in.

"Tell me, please, for what prince are you saving your treasure?" she asked curtly.

Anninka was taken aback. First of all she was amazed to find that both the Volpino priest and Lubinka employed the same word "treasure" for maidenly honor. Only the priest had regarded it as the "foundation of life," while Lubinka looked upon it as a mere trifle over which the "rascally males" go mad.

Then she involuntarily questioned herself, What is this "treasure," anyhow? Is it really a treasure and is it really worth hoarding? Alas, she could find no satisfactory answer to her questions. On one hand, it is rather shameful to remain without honor, and on the other----Ah, the devil take it! And could it be that the whole purpose, the whole merit of her existence consisted in struggling every moment of her life to maintain this treasure?

"In only six months I have succeeded in getting thirty bonds," Lubinka continued, "and lots of things. Look what a dress I have on!"

Lubinka turned about, pulled at the front, then at the sides, letting herself be examined. The dress was really an expensive one and unusually well made. It came straight from Minangois in Moscow.

"Kukishev is a kind sort," Lubinka resumed. "He will dress you up like a doll, and he will give you money. You'll be able to send the theatre to the devil. You have had enough of it."

"Never!" cried Anninka heatedly. She had not as yet forgotten the phrase, "sacred art."

"You may remain if you wish to. You will get your former salary again and outstrip Nalimova."

Anninka was silent.

"Well, good-by. They are waiting for me downstairs. Kukishev is there, too. Will you come?"

But Anninka maintained her silence.

"Well, think it over, if there is anything to think about. And when you have done thinking, come to see me. Good-by."

On the seventeenth of September, Lubinka's birthday, the posters of the Samovarnov theatre announced a gala performance. Anninka appeared as _Fair Helen_ again, and the same evening the part of Orestes was performed by Pogorelskaya II, Lubinka. To complete the triumph of the sisters, Nalimova was given the part of Cleon, the blacksmith. She appeared on the stage dressed in tights and a short coat, her face touched with soot, and a sheet of iron in her hands. The audience was elated. Hardly did Anninka appear on the stage when the audience raised such a clamor that, already unaccustomed to ovations, she nearly broke into tears. And when, in the third act, in the scene where she is awakened at night, she stood up on the sofa almost naked, the house was one groaning mass of humanity. One man in the audience was so thoroughly worked up that he shouted to Menelaus, who was entering the stage, "Get out, damn you!" Anninka understood that the public had pardoned her. As for Kukishev, he was in full dress, white tie and white gloves. In the entr'actes he generously treated friends and strangers alike to champagne and spoke of his triumph with dignity. At last the manager of the theatre, brimming over with jubilation, appeared in Anninka's room and, kneeling before her, said, "Now, madam, you are a good girl and you will get your previous salary with the corresponding number of benefits."

Everybody praised her and congratulated her and protested their sympathy, so that she, who at first was timid, restless, and haunted with a feeling of oppressive melancholy, grew suddenly convinced that she had fulfilled her mission.

After the theatre the whole company went to Lubinka's birthday celebration, and there the congratulations were reiterated. So large a crowd gathered in Lubinka's quarters that the tobacco smoke made it hard to breathe. They sat down to supper, and champagne began to flow freely. Kukishev kept close to Anninka. This made her somewhat shy, but she was no longer oppressed by his attentions. It seemed rather funny, but also flattering, that she had so easily gotten hold of this big, powerful man, who could bend and straighten out a horseshoe without effort, and whom she could order about and do with as she wished. The supper was crowned by that drunken, disorderly gaiety in which neither the head nor the heart takes a part, and which results only in headaches and nausea. The tragedian Miloslavsky X was the only one who looked gloomy and declined champagne, preferring plain vodka, which he gulped down glass after glass. As to Anninka, she abstained from drink for some time, but Kukishev was insistent. He went down on his knees and implored her:

"Anna Semyonovna, it is your turn. I beseech you. For your happiness, for friendship and love. Do us a favor."

She was annoyed by his foolish figure and foolish talk, yet she could not refuse, and before she had time to collect her thoughts, she was already dizzy. Lubinka, for her part, was so magnanimous that she herself asked her sister to sing, "How I did love it with my mash." Anninka performed it so well that everybody exclaimed, "Ah, that was just like Matryusha the gypsy." Then Lubinka sang an obscene song of a different kind, and at once convinced everybody that that kind of singing was her real genre, in which she had no rivals, just as Anninka had none in the gypsy songs. In conclusion, Miloslavsky X and Nalimova presented a "masquerade scene" in which the tragedian recited parts from _Ugolino_ (a tragedy in five acts, by Polevoy), and Nalimova followed with a scene from an unpublished tragedy of Barkov. The result was so unexpected that Nalimova nearly eclipsed the two sisters and almost became the heroine of the evening.

It was already dawn when Kukishev, leaving the charming hostess, helped Anninka into her carriage. Pious townspeople were coming from matins. At the sight of Anninka, elaborately attired and somewhat unsteady on her feet, they muttered darkly, "People are coming out of church, and they are gulping wine. A curse on them!"

On leaving her sister's, Anninka went not to the hotel but to her own quarters, small but snug and nicely furnished. She was followed by Kukishev.

The whole winter passed in an indescribable hurly-burly. Anninka was completely in the swing, and if she ever reminded herself of her "treasure," it was only in order to laugh it off with "How foolish I was!" Kukishev, very proud of the fact that his "idea" of securing a mistress like Lubinka had materialized, made ducks and drakes of his money. Instigated by emulation, he ordered two gowns to Lyulkin's one, and two dozen bottles of champagne to his one dozen. Lubinka herself began to envy her sister, because she succeeded in laying by forty lottery bonds during the winter in addition to a considerable amount of jewelry. However, they became friendly again and decided to pool their hoardings.

Anninka always hoped for something, and during an intimate talk with her sister, said:

"When all this will be over, we will go back to Pogorelka. We will have money and establish a home for ourselves."

"And you think this will ever end? Fool!" Lubinka retorted cynically.

To Anninka's misfortune, Kukishev soon came upon a new "idea," which he began to pursue with his usual obstinacy. A vulgar and eminently shallow-pated man, he imagined he would reach the pinnacle of bliss if his queen would "accompany" him, that is, if she would drink vodka with him.

Anninka for some time declined, referring to the fact that Lyulkin never compelled Lubinka to drink vodka.

"And yet she drinks out of love for Lyulkin," Kukishev retorted. "And may I ask you, darling, do you take the Lyulkins as an example? They are Lyulkins, while you and I, we are Kukishevs. Therefore we will drink in our own Kukishev way."

Kukishev had his way. Once Anninka took a small glass of green liquid from the hands of her "beloved" and gulped it down. Of course she saw stars, choked, coughed, became dizzy, thereby putting Kukishev in transports of delight.

"Permit me to remark, darling, that you do not drink well! You did it too fast," he instructed her, as she quieted down somewhat. "The wineglass should be held in the tiny hands, so! Then you bring it over to the lips, slowly--one, two, three--the Lord bless us!"

And he calmly and gravely gulped down the contents of the glass, as if he were pouring vodka into a barrel. He did not even frown, but only took a bit of black bread, dipped it in the salt cellar, and chewed it.

And so Kukishev succeeded in realizing his second "idea" and even began to plan another one, which would beat the Lyulkins hollow. Of course he succeeded in inventing one.

"You know," he suddenly announced, "as soon as summer comes we will go to my mill with the Lyulkins, take along some provisions and bathe in the river."

"Never!" Anninka objected indignantly.

"Why not? We will bathe, then have a cocktail, rest a little, and bathe again. That would be delightful."

It is not known whether Kukishev's third idea materialized or not, but it is certain that this drunken debauchery lasted a whole year, during which time neither the zemstvo nor the city administration exhibited the slightest anxiety concerning Messrs. Kukishev and Lyulkin. For appearance's sake Lyulkin visited Moscow twice, and on his return declared he had sold one of his forests. On being reminded that he had sold the same forest four years before when living with Domashka the gypsy, he answered it was another forest that he had sold that time, and, to give his tale the appearance of veracity, he added detailed information concerning the name of his newly sold forest-estate. As for Kukishev, he gave currency to the story that he had smuggled in a large stock of embroidery from abroad, thereby earning a great deal of money.

In September of the next year the chief of police asked Kukishev for a "loan" of a thousand rubles and, Kukishev was foolish enough to refuse. Then the police superintendent began to confer secretly with the assistant attorney. ("Both of them guzzled champagne in my house every evening," Kukishev testified later at the trial.) On September 17th, at the anniversary of Kukishev's _liaison,_ when he and the others celebrated Lubinka's birthday again, a member of the city council came running in and announced to Kukishev that a warrant was being made out at the City Board for his arrest.

"They must have found out something!" Kukishev exclaimed rather pluckily, and without further comment followed the messenger to the council-hall, and from there to prison.

The next day the zemstvo council also took fright. The members assembled and ordered the money in the treasury counted and recounted, and at last came to the conclusion that their treasury, too, had been drained by somebody. Lyulkin was present at the examination, pale, gloomy, but "noble"! When the loss had been discovered, and when it became apparent to Lyulkin that he had no hope of escaping, he walked to the window, drew a revolver from his pocket, and fired a bullet into his temple.

The event created quite a turmoil in the town. The people pitied Lyulkin, saying, "At least he ended nobly!" But the general opinion about Kukishev was, "He was born a shopkeeper, and a shopkeeper he will die!" Concerning Anninka and Lubinka they simply said that "they were the cause of it all," and that it would not do any harm to put them behind the bars, too, so that in future matters might not be very inviting for such wretches.

The prosecutors, however, did not arrest them, but terrorized them so mercilessly that they were completely dismayed. Of course there were some kind people who advised them to conceal all their valuables, but they listened and understood nothing. Owing to this, the attorney for the plaintiffs (both councils hired the same attorney), a daring fellow, wishing to satisfy his clients, came to the sisters one day, accompanied by the process server, to take an inventory. He seized and sealed everything except their dresses and such gold and silver things as bore inscriptions showing they had been the gifts of the appreciative public. Lubinka, however, succeeded in hiding a roll of bank-notes, presented to her the previous evening, in her corset. It was a thousand rubles, on which the sisters would have to exist for an indefinite time.

In expectation of Kukishev's trial, they were kept in the town about four months. Then the trial began, and the sisters, Anninka particularly, had to undergo a ruthless ordeal. Kukishev was cynical in the extreme. He revelled in the disclosure of details, for which there was really no need, but apparently he was desirous of striking a pose before the ladies of Samovarnov and exposed everything indiscreetly. The attorney and the private prosecutor, young and anxious to afford pleasure to the ladies, took advantage of this and endeavored to lend the proceeding a frivolous character, in which they succeeded, of course. Anninka fainted a number of times, but the private prosecutor paid no attention to this and bombarded her with questions. At last the investigation ended, and both sides had their say. Late at night the jurors announced that Kukishev was guilty, but that there were alleviating circumstances. In view of this he was sentenced to be deported to Western Siberia. When the trial was over, the sisters obtained permission to leave Samovarnov. And it was high time, for the thousand rubles were nearly exhausted. Besides, the manager of the Kretchetov theatre, with whom they had made arrangements, demanded that they appear in Kretchetov at once, threatening to discontinue negotiations if they delayed. Nothing was seen or heard of the valuables and documents sealed at the demand of the private prosecutor.

Such were the consequences of their disregard for their "treasure." Tormented, crushed, despised by everybody, the sisters lost all faith in their own strength and all hope for a brighter future. They became emaciated, slovenly, cowardly. And Anninka, to boot, having been in Kukishev's school, had learned to drink.

Matters grew worse. No sooner did they alight from the train at Kretchetov than they at once found "protectors." Lubinka was taken by Captain Popkov, Anninka by the merchant Zabvenny. But the jolly times were no more. Both Popkov and Zabvenny were coarse, quarrelsome, and rather close-fisted. After three or four months they became considerably colder. The sisters were even less successful on the stage than in love affairs. The manager who had accepted the sisters on the strength of the scandal they had caused at Samovarnov quite unexpectedly found himself out of his reckoning. At the very first performance somebody in the gallery shouted when the two girls made their appearance on the stage, "You convicts!" And the name stuck. It decided Anninka's and Lubinka's theatrical fate.

They now lived a dull, drowsy life, devoid of all intellectual interest. The public was cold, the managers scowled at them, the "protectors" would not intercede. Zabvenny dreamed, as once Kukishev had, of how he would "compel" his queen to have a cocktail with him, how she would at first affect horror, and gradually submit. But he was very angry when he found out that she was already past mistress in the art of drinking. The only satisfaction left him was to show his friends how Anninka "guzzled vodka." Popkov, too, was dissatisfied and declared Lubinka had grown thin.

"You once had flesh on your bones," he would say, "tell me, where did you lose it?"

On account of this, he was not only unceremonious with her, but often even beat her when he was drunk.

Toward the end of the winter the sisters had neither "real" admirers nor a "permanent position." They still stuck to the theatre, but there could be no question now either of _Pericola_ or the _Old-time Colonels._ Lubinka was more cheerful, but Anninka, being more high-strung, broke down completely. She seemed to have forgotten the past and was not aware of the present. In addition, she began to cough suspiciously, apparently on her way toward an enigmatic malady.

Next summer was terrible. Gradually the sisters were taken to hotels and were given to travelling gentlemen for a moderate fixed price. Scandals and beatings followed one another, but the sisters clung to life desperately, with the tenacity of cats. They reminded one of those wretched dogs who, in spite of being crippled by a beating, crawl back to their favorite place, whining as they go. It was not proper to keep women like that on the stage.

In those dark days only once did a ray of light find its way into Anninka's existence. Miloslavsky X, the tragedian, sent her a letter from Samovarnov in which he persistently offered her his hand and heart. Anninka read the letter and cried. The night long she tossed about in bed, and in the morning she sent a curt reply, "Why? Only that we may drink together?" Then darkness closed down upon her intenser than ever, and endless, base debauchery began again.

Lubinka was the first to wake up, or if not to wake up, at least to feel instinctively that she had lived long enough. There was no work in sight. Her youth, her beauty, and her embryonic talent, all had somehow vanished. That they had a shelter in Pogorelka, she never remembered. It was something distant, vague, long-forgotten. They never did have much of a liking for Pogorelka, and now their hatred toward the place was only intensified. Even when they were almost starving the place attracted her less than ever. And what sort of a figure would she cut there? A figure which all sorts of drunken, lustful breaths had branded as a "creature." Those accursed breaths saturated her entire body. She felt them everywhere, in every place. And what is more horrible, she grew so accustomed to those disgusting breaths that they became a part of her very being. So with Anninka, too. Neither the stench of eating-houses, nor the din of the inns, nor the obscene language of the drunkards seemed abominable to them, so that had they gone to Pogorelka, they would surely have missed the "life." Besides, even in Pogorelka they must have something to live on. All these many years that they had wandered about the world they had heard nothing of the revenue that Pogorelka brought. Perhaps the estate was a myth. Perhaps the folks had all died, all those witnesses of the distant and yet ever-present years, when they had been brought up by their grandmother, Arina Petrovna, on sour milk and stale cured meat.

It was clear that it was best for Lubinka to die. Once this thought dawns on one's consciousness, it becomes an obsession. The sisters not infrequently had moments of awakening, but in the case of Anninka they were accompanied by hysterics, sobs, tears, and so passed away faster. Lubinka was colder by nature. She did not cry or curse, but the thought that she was a "hussy" constantly preyed on her mind. And Lubinka was more reasonable and saw quite clearly that there was not even any profit in their mode of living. For the future she expected nothing but shame, poverty and the street. Shame is a matter of habit, it can be tolerated, but poverty--never! It is better to end it all at once.

"We must die," she once said to Anninka in that same cool and deliberate tone in which two years ago she had asked her for whom she was saving her "treasure."

"Why?" Anninka objected, somewhat frightened.

"I mean it seriously. We must die," Lubinka repeated. "Understand, wake up, think!"

"Well--let us die," Anninka assented, hardly realizing the dismal meaning of her decision.

That same day Lubinka cut off the tips of some matches and prepared two glasses of the mixture. One of these she drank herself, the other she offered her sister. But Anninka immediately lost courage and refused to drink.

"Drink, you slut," Lubinka cried out. "Sister, dearest, darling, drink!"

Anninka, almost insane with fear, ran about the room, instinctively clutching at her throat as if trying to choke herself.

"Drink, drink--you street-walker!"

The artistic career of the two sisters was ended. That same evening Lubinka's corpse was taken into the field and buried. Anninka remained alive.