“Duimoff!” cried Olga Ivanovna, radiant with joy. “Duimoff!” she repeated, laying her head and both hands on his shoulder. “It is you? Why did you not come sooner? Why? Why?”
“I couldn't, mama! I am always busy, and when I end my work there's generally no train.”
“How glad I am youVe come! I dreamed of you all, all last night. Akh, if you knew how I love you — and how opportunely you've come! You are my saviour! To-morrow we have a most original wedding.” She laughed and re-tied her husband's tie. “A young telegraphist at the station, a certain Tchikeldeyeff, is going to be married. A handsome boy, not at all stupid; in his face, you know, there's something strong, bearish. . . . He'd sit admirably as model for a Varangian. We are all interested in him, and promised to come to the wedding. . . . He is a poor man, solitary and shy, and it would be a sin to refuse. Imagine! . . . after church there'll be the wedding, then all go to the bride's house . . . you understand . . . the woods, the birds' songs, sunspots on the grass, and we ourselves — variegated spots on a bright green background. . . . Most original, quite in the style of the French impressionists! But what am I to wear, Duimoff? I have nothing here, literally nothing. . . . No dress, no flowers, no gloves! . . . You must save me. Your arrival means that fate is on my side. Here are the keys, sweet-heart!
