»Well, let that pass. Give me your hand. Let's be friends.«
»Give me your hand--as friends--as friends,« he repeated sincerely, but for some reason in a low voice.
But Liuba got up, and moving a little distance away said:
»Do you know ... either you are a fool or you have been very little beaten!«
»My God, yes! My author! A most perfect author! How could one help hitting you, my dear?«
She apparently chose the word author purposely, and with some special and definite meaning. And then, with supreme disdain, taking no more account of him than of a chattel or hopeless imbecile or drunkard, she walked freely up and down, and jeered:
»Or was it that I hit you too hard? What are you whining about?«
»My author says that I'm a hard fighter. Perhaps he has a finer face. However hard one smacks your cheeks you seem to feel nothing! Oh, I've knocked lots of people's mouths about, but I've never been so sorry for anyone as for my author. 'Hit away', he says, 'I deserve it.' A drunken slobberer! It's disgusting hitting him. He's a brute. But I hurt my hand on your face. Here--kiss it where it smarts!«
She thrust her hand to his lips and withdrew it swiftly. Her excitement was increasing. For some minutes it seemed as though she were choking in a fever; she rubbed her breast, breathing deeply through her open mouth, and unconsciously gripped the window curtains. And twice she stopped as she went to and fro to pour out a glass of cognac. The second time he remarked in a surly tone.
»I have no consistency, my dear,« she replied, quite simply. »I'm drugged, and unless I drink at intervals I stifle ... This revives me.«
Then all at once, as if she had only just noticed him, she raised her eyes in surprise, and laughed.
»Ah! There you are--still there! Not gone yet! Sit down, sit down!« With a savage light in her eyes, she threw off the knitted wrap, again baring her rosy shoulders and thin soft arms. »Why am I all wrapped up like this? It's hot here and I ... I must have been saving him! How kind!... Look here, you might at least take your trousers off. It's only good manners here to do without your trousers. If your drawers are dirty I'll give you mine. Oh, never mind the slit. Here, put them on. Now, my dear boy, you must, you'll have to....«