The Petty Demon by Fyodor Sologub Read Free Book Online Page B

furious.
    “Second cousin …” he growled, peering angrily past his companions.
    “But did the Princess promise you yourself?” asked the pale, tall and foppishly dressed Rutilov.
    “Not me but Varya,” Peredonov replied.
    “Well, there you go, and you believed it,” Rutilov said with animation. “It’s possible to say anything. Why didn’t you go
     and see the Princess yourself?”
    “Look, Varya and I did go but missed the Princess, we were all of five minutes late,” Peredonov said. “She had gone off to
     the country and was to return in three weeks, and I couldn’t possibly wait, I had to come back here for the examinations.”
    “There’s something suspicious,” said Rutilov and laughed, showing his rotten-looking teeth.
    Peredonov grew thoughtful. His companions dispersed. Only Rutilov stayed behind with him.
    “Of course,” Peredonov said, “I can marry anyone that I care to. Varvara isn’t the only one.”
    “It goes without saying, Ardalyon Borisych, that anyone would marry you,” confirmed Rutilov.
    They left the churchyard and slowly crossed the unpaved and dusty square. Peredonov said:
    “But what about the Princess? She would get angry if I threw Varya over.”
    “Who cares about the Princess!” Rutilov said. “You don’t have to pussy-foot around with her. Let her give you a position first,
     then you’ll have plenty of time to get hitched. Otherwise you’ll be doing it for nothing, blindly.”
    “That’s true …” Peredonov agreed thoughtfully.
    “You tell Varvara that,” Rutilov pressed him. “First the position, you say to her, otherwise you don’t really believe it.
     When you do get the position, then you can go ahead and marry whomever you take a fancy to. Best of all, take one of my sisters,
     there are three, choose any one of them. They’re educated young ladies, clever, and it’s not flattery to say that Varvara
     is no match for them. She can’t hold a candle to them.”
    “Hm-hm …” Peredonov made a lowing sound.
    “It’s true. What’s your Varvara? Here, take a whiff.”
    Rutilov bent over, broke off a shaggy stalk of henbane, crumpled it together with the leaves and dirty white flowers, and
     grinding it between his fingers, raised it to Peredonov’s nose. The latter screwed up his face from the unpleasant heavy smell.
     Rutilov said:
    “Grind her up and throw her away, and that’s your Varvara. She and my sisters, now brother, there’s a real difference for
     you. My young ladies are perky and full of life, just take any one of them and you won’t be dozing off. And they’re young
     too, the eldest is three times younger than your Varvara.”
    As was his custom, Rutilov uttered all of this quickly and cheerfully, with a smile, yet he was tall, narrow-chested and seemed
     consumptive and brittle. Sparse, closely cropped light hair stuck out rather miserably from beneath his new and stylish hat.
    “Come now, three times,” Peredonov objected listlessly, removing his gold spectacles and wiping them.
    “It’s really true!” exclaimed Rutilov. “Mind you don’t dawdle, because as I live, those sisters of mine have their pride—when
     you feel like it later, then it’ll be too late. But any single one of them would be more than pleased to marry you.”
    “Yes, everyone is in love with me here,” Peredonov boasted sullenly.
    “Now look, you just seize the opportunity,” Rutilov urged him.
    “The main thing for me is that I don’t want her to be scrawny,” Peredonov said with melancholy in his voice. “I prefer one
     that’s a little plump.”
    “Don’t go worrying yourself on that account,” Rutilov said heatedly. “They’re chubby little ladies right now and if they haven’t
     quite filled out yet, then it’s just a matter of time. Soon as they get married they’ll put on some flesh like the eldest
     one. Our Larisa, as you know yourself, has become a proper dumpling.”
    “I would get married,” Peredonov said, “but