I looked out over the
square and saw Maksim Maksimich running towards us
for all he was worth
. . . In a few minutes he had reached us. He
could barely catch his breath, beads of
perspiration rolled down his face, damp strands of
gray hair that had escaped from under his cap
stuck to his forehead, and his knees shook. He
was about to throw his arms around Pechorin's
neck, but the latter extended his hand rather
coldly, though his smile was pleasant enough. For
a moment the captain was taken aback, then he
eagerly gripped the hand with both of his. He was
still unable to speak.
"This is a pleasure, dear Maksim
Maksimich. How are you?" said Pechorin.
"And thou?...And you?..." faltered
the old man, tears welling up in his eyes.
"It's a long time . . . a very long time .
. . But where are you off to?"
"On my way to Persia . . . and then
farther..."
"Not immediately, I hope? Won't you stay
awhile, my dear man? We haven't seen each other
for so long . . ."
"I must go, Maksim Maksimich," was
the reply.
"My God, what's the hurry? I have so much
to tell you and so many questions to ask . .
. How are things, anyway? Retired, eh? What
have you been doing?"
"I've been bored stiff," replied
Pechorin, smiling.
"Remember our life in the fort? Wonderful
hunting country, wasn't it? How you loved to
hunt! Remember Bela?"
Pechorin turned white a little and turned
away.
"Yes, I remember," he said,
deliberately yawning almost in the same breath.
Maksim Maksimich urged him to stay on for
another hour or two. "We'll have a fine
dinner," he said. "I have two pheasants
and the Kakhetian here is excellent . . . not
the same as in Georgia, of course, but the best to
be had here. And we could talk . . . you'll
tell me about your stay in St. Petersburg, won't
you?"
"I really have nothing to tell, dear
Maksim Maksimich. And I have to say goodbye now,
for I must be off . . . In rather a hurry
. . . It was kind of you not to have forgotten
me," he added, taking the old man's hand.
The old man frowned. He was both grieved and
hurt, though he did his best to conceal his
feelings. "Forgotten!" he muttered.
"No, I've forgotten nothing. Oh well, never
mind . . . Only I didn't expect our meeting
would be like this."
"Come, now," said Pechorin, embracing
him in a friendly way. "I don't think I have
changed. Ar any rate, it can't be helped. We all
are destined to go our several ways. God knows
whether we'll meet again." This he said as he
climbed into the carriage and the coachman was
already gathering up the reins.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute!"
Maksim Maksimich suddenly shouted, holding the
carriage door. "It completely slipped my
mind . . . I still have your papers, Grigoriy
Aleksandrovich . . . Been carrying them around
with me . . . Thought I'd find you in Georgia,
never dreaming the Lord would have us meet here .
. . What do you want me to do with
them?"
"Whatever you want," replied
Pechorin. "Farewell!"
"So you are off to Persia . . . When do
you expect to be back?" Maksim Maksimich
shouted after him.
The carriage was already some distance off, but
Pechorin waved in a way that could well be
interpreted to mean: "I doubt whether I will
return, nor is there any reason why I
should!"
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