The Torrents Of Spring

‘Oh, you told me, you know, that you were in love, wanting to get
married. Well, then, describe that.’
Sanin was offended. ‘What do you find laughable in that?’
Polozov only rolled his eyes. The juice from the orange was trickling
down his chin.
‘Was it your wife sent you to Frankfort to shop for her?’ asked Sanin
after a short time.
‘Yes, it was she.’
‘What are the purchases?’
‘Toys, of course.’
‘Toys? have you any children?’
Polozov positively moved away from Sanin.
‘That’s likely! What do I want with children? Feminine fallals …
finery. For the toilet.’
‘Do you mean to say you understand such things?’
‘To be sure I do.’
‘But didn’t you tell me you didn’t interfere in any of your wife’s
affairs?’
‘I don’t in any other. But this … is no consequence. To pass the time –
one may do it. And my wife has confidence in my taste. And I’m a firstrate
hand at bargaining.’
Polozov began to speak by jerks; he was exhausted already. ‘And is
your wife very rich?’
‘Rich; yes, rather! Only she keeps the most of it for herself.’
‘But I expect you can’t complain either?’
‘Well, I’m her husband. I’m hardly likely not to get some benefit from
it! And I’m of use to her. With me she can do just as she likes! I’m easygoing!’
Polozov wiped his face with a silk handkerchief and puffed painfully,
as though to say, ‘Have mercy on me; don’t force me to utter another
word. You see how hard it is for me.’
Sanin left him in peace, and again sank into meditation.
The hotel in Wiesbaden, before which the carriage stopped, was exactly
like a palace. Bells were promptly set ringing in its inmost recesses;
a fuss and bustle arose; men of good appearance in black frock-coats
skipped out at the principal entrance; a door-keeper who was a blaze of
gold opened the carriage doors with a flourish.
Like some triumphant general Polozov alighted and began to ascend a
staircase strewn with rugs and smelling of agreeable perfumes. To him
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