[Footnote 2: Diminutives of Mary and Catherine.]
[Footnote 3: National Russian air.]
While observing her face, the dreams of the night before came back to
mind, and without knowing why, I felt an oppression in my heart. The
weather was magnificent.
Gaguine told us he intended to go out to sketch. I asked permission to
accompany him if it would not trouble him.
"On the contrary," he said, "you can give me some good advice."
He put on his blouse, donned his round Van Dyck hat, took his portfolio
under his arm, and started out. I followed him. Annouchka remained at
home. On leaving, Gaguine begged her to see that the soup was not made
too thin. She promised to keep her eye on the kitchen.
Leading me into the valley, with which I was already familiar, Gaguine
seated himself upon a stone, and began to draw an old tufted oak.
I stretched myself upon the grass and took a book, but read two pages of
it at the most. Gaguine, on his side, made but a poor daub. In return
we did not fail to discuss very fully, and, in my opinion, not without
judgment and justness, the best method to follow to work with profit,
the dangers to avoid, the end to be aimed at, and the mission of the
true artist in the age in which we live. Gaguine ended by declaring that
to-day he did not feel sufficiently in spirits, and came and stretched
himself at my side. Then we gave ourselves up to the irresistible
temptation of one of those conversations so dear to youth, conversations
sometimes enthusiastic, sometimes pensive and melancholy, but always
sincere and always vague, in which we Russians love so much to indulge.
After having talked to satiety, we took the road to the town, very well
satisfied with ourselves, as if we had just accomplished a difficult
task, or brought a great enterprise to a good end. We found Annouchka
exactly as we left her. I observed her with the utmost attention; I
could discover in her neither the slightest shade of coquetry, or
indication denoting a studied part; it was impossible this time to find
in her any vestiges of oddity.
"Decidedly," said Gaguine, "she is fasting and doing penance."
Towards evening she yawned two or three times without the least
affectation, and went to bed early. I took leave of Gaguine soon after,
and, going home, I did not allow myself to dream. The day came to an end
without my mind suffering the least trouble, only it seemed to me, as I
lay down, that I said involuntarily aloud,--
"Oh! that little girl--she is, indeed, an enigma. And yet," added I,
after a moment's reflection, "and yet she is not his sister!"