Too Much Happiness

decision to marry her, he had written that it seemed unfair to desert a woman who had so much attachment to himself. He had never given up other women, not even at the beginning of the liaison when Aniuta was delirious with her discovery of him. And certainly not throughout the marriage. Sophia supposed that he might still be attractive to women, though his beard was untidy and gray and when he talked he sometimes got so excited that his words came in a splutter. A hero worn out by his struggle, one who had sacrificed his youth-that was how he might present himself, not without effect. And it was true, in a way. He was physically brave, he had ideals, he was born a peasant and knew what it was to be despised.
    And she too, just now, had been despising him.
    The room was shabby, but when you looked at it closely you saw that it had been cleaned as well as possible. A few cooking pots hung from nails on the wall. The cold stove had been polished, and so had the bottoms of those pots. It occurred to her that there might be a woman with him, even now.
    He was talking about Clemenceau, saying they were on good terms. He was ready now to brag about a friendship with a man she would have expected him to accuse of being in the pay of the British Foreign Office (though she herself believed this false).
    She deflected him by praising the apartment’s tidiness.
    He looked around, surprised at the change of subject, then slowly smiled, and with a new vindictiveness.
    “There is a person I am married to, she takes care of my welfare. A French lady, I am glad to say, she is not so garrulous and lazy as the Russians. She is educated, she was a governess but was dismissed for her political sympathies. I am afraid I cannot introduce you to her. She is poor but decent and she still values her reputation.”
    “Ah,” said Sophia, rising. “I meant to tell you that I too am marrying again. A Russian gentleman.”
    “I had heard that you went about with Maksim Maksimovich. I did not hear anything about a marriage.”
    Sophia was trembling from sitting so long in the cold. She spoke to Urey, as cheerfully as she could.
    “Will you walk with your old aunt to the station? I have not had a chance to talk to you.”
    “I hope I have not offended you,” said Jaclard quite poisonously. “I always believe in speaking the truth.”
    “Not at all.”
    Urey put on his jacket, which she now saw was too big for him. It had probably been bought in a rag market. He had grown, but he was no taller than Sophia herself. He might not have had the right food at an important time in his life. His mother had been tall, and Jaclard was tall still.
    Though he had not seemed eager to accompany her, Urey began to talk before they had reached the bottom of the stairs. And he had picked up her bag immediately, without being asked.
    “He is too stingy to even light a fire for you. There is firewood in the box, she brought some up this morning. She is as ugly as a sewer rat, that’s why he didn’t want you to meet her.”
    “You shouldn’t talk that way about women.”
    “Why not, if they want to be equal?”
    “I suppose I should say ‘about people.’ But I don’t want to talk about her or your father. I want to talk about you. How are you doing with your studies?”
    “I hate them.”
    “You cannot hate all of them.”
    “Why can’t I? It isn’t at all difficult to hate all of them.”
    “Can you speak Russian to me?”
    “It’s a barbaric language. Why can’t you speak better French? He says your accent is barbaric. He says my mother’s accent was barbaric too. Russians are barbaric.”
    “Does he say that too?”
    “I make up my own mind.”
    They walked for a time in silence.
    “It’s a bit dreary in Paris this time of year,” Sophia said. “Do you remember what a good time we had that summer at Sèvres? We talked about all kinds of things. Fufu remembers you still and talks about you. She remembers how much you wanted to come and live with us.”
    “That was childish. I didn’t think realistically at that time.”
    “So have you now? Have you thought of a lifework for yourself?”
    “Yes.”
    Because of a taunting satisfaction in his voice she did not ask what this might be. He told her anyway.
    “I’m going to be an omnibus boy and call out the stations. I got a job doing that when I ran away at Christmastime, but he came and got me back. When I am one year older he won’t be able to do that.”
    “Perhaps you would