connoisseur.
At this point the inhabitant of the cabin finally turned toward the window and noticed the gentleman peeping in. Her eyebrows shot up and her lips moved—we must assume that she gasped “Ah!” or made some other expression of the same kind.
The handsome gentleman was not in the least embarrassed; in fact, he raised his cap politely and bowed. The lady moved her lips soundlessly again, this time for longer, but though her words were inaudible outside, it was not difficult to guess their meaning: “What can I do for you, sir?”
Instead of replying or, even better, going away, the passenger rapped insistently on the glass with his knuckles. When the female traveler, intrigued, lowered the window frame, he spoke in a clear, resonant voice.
“Felix Stanislavovich Lagrange. Pardon my directness, madam—I am a soldier, you see—but at the sight of you I suddenly felt as if you and I were all alone on this ship. Just the two of us, and not another soul. Now isn't that a strange thing?”
The lady blushed and was about to close the window without speaking, but after glancing more closely at the soldier's attractive face, and especially at his round, extraordinarily intense eyes, she seemed suddenly to become thoughtful, and the moment for demonstrating intransigence was missed.
Shortly thereafter the colonel and his new acquaintance were already sitting in the ship's saloon, surrounded by pilgrims (an entirely and exclusively respectable crowd), drinking champagne cup and making conversation.
In fact it was Natalya Genrikhovna (that was the lady's name) who did most of the talking, and the chief of police hardly even opened his mouth, because at the first stage of a new acquaintance, that was superfluous—he merely smiled mysteriously into his scented mustache and gazed adoringly at his companion.
With her cheeks glowing pink, the lady, who was the wife of a St. Petersburg newspaper publisher, told him that she had grown weary of the vain bustle of life in the capital and decided to cleanse her soul, which was why she had set out on this trip to the holy island.
“You know, Felix Stanislavovich, there suddenly comes a moment in life when you feel things cannot go on as they are any longer,” Natalya Genrikhovna told him in a confidential tone. “You have to stop and look around, listen to the silence, and understand what is most important about yourself. That is why I came alone—in order to be quiet and to listen. And also to beg the Lord's forgiveness for all my sins, both voluntary and involuntary. Do you understand me?”
The colonel raised his eyebrows expressively: Oh, yes!
An hour later they were strolling along the deck, and in order to shelter his companion from the fresh wind, Lagrange reduced the distance between his strong, manly shoulder and Natalya Genrikhovna's delicate one to an entirely insignificant gap.
When the St. Basilisk emerged from the mouth of the bay into a wide, black, open expanse, the wind suddenly acquired a keen edge, the white-toothed waves began slapping angrily against the side of the ship, and from time to time the colonel was obliged to catch hold of the lady around the waist; and every time his hand lingered longer against her gently yielding side.
Sailor monks holding up the hems of their cassocks ran around the deck, securing the dancing lifeboats and muttering prayers in a habitual murmur. On the bridge they could see the massive figure of the captain, also wearing a cassock, but with a peaked leather cap on his head and a broad leather belt around his hips. The captain was shouting into a megaphone in a hoarse bass voice: “Porfirii, may you choke on unction! Cast on two hitches!”
At the stern, where the wind was blowing less furiously, the strolling couple halted. Natalya Genrikhovna surveyed the boundless expanse of stormy water and the lowering, gray black sky and shuddered.
“My God, how frightening it is! As if we'd fallen into a hole between
At this point the inhabitant of the cabin finally turned toward the window and noticed the gentleman peeping in. Her eyebrows shot up and her lips moved—we must assume that she gasped “Ah!” or made some other expression of the same kind.
The handsome gentleman was not in the least embarrassed; in fact, he raised his cap politely and bowed. The lady moved her lips soundlessly again, this time for longer, but though her words were inaudible outside, it was not difficult to guess their meaning: “What can I do for you, sir?”
Instead of replying or, even better, going away, the passenger rapped insistently on the glass with his knuckles. When the female traveler, intrigued, lowered the window frame, he spoke in a clear, resonant voice.
“Felix Stanislavovich Lagrange. Pardon my directness, madam—I am a soldier, you see—but at the sight of you I suddenly felt as if you and I were all alone on this ship. Just the two of us, and not another soul. Now isn't that a strange thing?”
The lady blushed and was about to close the window without speaking, but after glancing more closely at the soldier's attractive face, and especially at his round, extraordinarily intense eyes, she seemed suddenly to become thoughtful, and the moment for demonstrating intransigence was missed.
Shortly thereafter the colonel and his new acquaintance were already sitting in the ship's saloon, surrounded by pilgrims (an entirely and exclusively respectable crowd), drinking champagne cup and making conversation.
In fact it was Natalya Genrikhovna (that was the lady's name) who did most of the talking, and the chief of police hardly even opened his mouth, because at the first stage of a new acquaintance, that was superfluous—he merely smiled mysteriously into his scented mustache and gazed adoringly at his companion.
With her cheeks glowing pink, the lady, who was the wife of a St. Petersburg newspaper publisher, told him that she had grown weary of the vain bustle of life in the capital and decided to cleanse her soul, which was why she had set out on this trip to the holy island.
“You know, Felix Stanislavovich, there suddenly comes a moment in life when you feel things cannot go on as they are any longer,” Natalya Genrikhovna told him in a confidential tone. “You have to stop and look around, listen to the silence, and understand what is most important about yourself. That is why I came alone—in order to be quiet and to listen. And also to beg the Lord's forgiveness for all my sins, both voluntary and involuntary. Do you understand me?”
The colonel raised his eyebrows expressively: Oh, yes!
An hour later they were strolling along the deck, and in order to shelter his companion from the fresh wind, Lagrange reduced the distance between his strong, manly shoulder and Natalya Genrikhovna's delicate one to an entirely insignificant gap.
When the St. Basilisk emerged from the mouth of the bay into a wide, black, open expanse, the wind suddenly acquired a keen edge, the white-toothed waves began slapping angrily against the side of the ship, and from time to time the colonel was obliged to catch hold of the lady around the waist; and every time his hand lingered longer against her gently yielding side.
Sailor monks holding up the hems of their cassocks ran around the deck, securing the dancing lifeboats and muttering prayers in a habitual murmur. On the bridge they could see the massive figure of the captain, also wearing a cassock, but with a peaked leather cap on his head and a broad leather belt around his hips. The captain was shouting into a megaphone in a hoarse bass voice: “Porfirii, may you choke on unction! Cast on two hitches!”
At the stern, where the wind was blowing less furiously, the strolling couple halted. Natalya Genrikhovna surveyed the boundless expanse of stormy water and the lowering, gray black sky and shuddered.
“My God, how frightening it is! As if we'd fallen into a hole between
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