The Torrents Of Spring

e simpler, one wonders? And yet they go on about “uniting the Fatherland.”
Waiter, take away that beastly stuff!’
‘Does your wife really manage … business matters herself?’ Sanin
inquired.
‘Yes. Try the cutlets – they’re good. I can recommend them. I’ve told
you already, Dimitri Pavlovitch, I don’t interfere in any of my wife’s concerns,
and I tell you so again.’
Polozov went on munching.
‘H’m… . But how can I have a talk with her, Ippolit Sidorovitch?’
‘It’s very simple, Dimitri Pavlovitch. Go to Wiesbaden. It’s not far from
here. Waiter, haven’t you any English mustard? No? Brutes! Only don’t
lose any time. We’re starting the day after to-morrow. Let me pour you
out a glass of wine; it’s wine with a bouquet – no vinegary stuff.’
Polozov’s face was flushed and animated; it was never animated but
when he was eating – or drinking.
‘Really, I don’t know, how that could be managed,’ Sanin muttered.
‘But what makes you in such a hurry about it all of a sudden?’
‘There is a reason for being in a hurry, brother.’
‘And do you need a lot of money?’
‘Yes, a lot. I … how can I tell you? I propose … getting married.’
Polozov set the glass he had been lifting to his lips on the table.
‘Getting married!’ he articulated in a voice thick with astonishment,
and he folded his podgy hands on his stomach. ‘So suddenly?’
‘Yes … soon.’
‘Your intended is in Russia, of course?’
‘No, not in Russia.’
‘Where then?’
‘Here in Frankfort.’
‘And who is she?’
‘A German; that is, no – an Italian. A resident here.’
‘With a fortune?’
‘No, without a fortune.’
‘Then I suppose your love is very ardent?’
‘How absurd you are! Yes, very ardent.’
‘And it’s for that you must have money?’
‘Well, yes … yes, yes.’
Polozov gulped down his wine, rinsed his mouth, and washed his
hands, carefully wiped them on the napkin, took out and lighted a cigar.
Sanin watched him in silence.
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