"You might have made a better choice," I said to her.
"What must I read, then?" she cried, and, throwing her book upon the
table, she added: "Then, in that case, I am going to amuse myself." And
she ran towards the garden.
The same day, in the evening, I read to Gaguine _Herrman and Dorothea_.
As I began to read, Annouchka went to and fro incessantly, then suddenly
she stopped, listened, seated herself quietly beside me, and gave me her
attention to the end.
The next day I was again surprised in no longer seeing the old
Annouchka. I began to comprehend that she had suddenly taken into her
head to be a housewife, wrapped up in her duties, like Dorothea. Finally
her character seemed inexplicable to me. In spite of the excessive
_amour propre_ that I found in her, I felt attracted towards her, even
when she made me angry. One thing, at least, appeared certain, and that
was that she was not the sister of Gaguine. I did not find in him
towards her the conduct of a brother; on her side too much respect and
compliance, too little constraint.
A strange circumstance seemed, according to all appearances, to
strengthen my suspicions. One evening, approaching the hedge which
surrounded Gaguine's house, I found the gate closed. Without stopping at
this obstacle I reached a place where, some days before, I had noticed
that a part of the hedge was destroyed, and I jumped into the enclosure;
some distance from there, a few steps from the path, there was a little
arbor of acacias; scarcely had I passed it than I distinguished the
voice of Annouchka, who cried out with fervor, weeping,--
"No, I shall never love any one but you; no, no, it is you alone whom I
wish to love, and forever!"
"Come, calm yourself," replied Gaguine, "you know very well that I
believe you." Their voices left the arbor. I could see them through the
thin foliage; they did not observe me.
"You, you only," she repeated; and, throwing herself on his neck, she
clung to him with convulsive sobs, covering him with kisses.
"Calm yourself, calm yourself," he kept repeating, passing his hand over
the hair of the young girl.
I remained quiet for some moments, then I came to my senses.--Should I
approach them? "No, not for the world," I immediately said.
I quickly regained the hedge, and, passing it at a stride, I again took
the road to my house, running. I smiled, I rubbed my hands, I wondered
at the chance that had unexpectedly confirmed my suppositions; the least
doubt seemed no longer possible, and at the same time I felt in my heart
an intense bitterness.
"I must confess," I said to myself, "that they can dissimulate well! But
what is their object? And I--why should they make me their dupe? I
should not expect such a thing from him. Then, what a melodramatic
scene!"