"You wish to know if your sister pleases me!" I said to him firmly. "She
does please me!"
Gaguine fixed his eyes upon me. "But, in short," replied he,
hesitating,--"would you marry her?"
"How can I answer that question. I make you the judge of it.--Can I do
it now?"
"I know it, I know it," cried Gaguine; "no, I have no right to expect an
answer from you, and the question that I have asked you is
unconventional in every particular, but force of circumstances
compelled me to do so. It is not safe to play with fire! You don't
understand what Annouchka is. She may fall ill, or run away, or even--or
even give you a rendezvous. Another would know how to conceal her
feelings and wait, but she cannot. It is her first experience, that's
the worst of it! If you could have seen to-day the way in which she
sobbed at my feet, you would share my fears."
I began to reflect. The words of Gaguine, "_Give you a rendezvous_,"
oppressed my heart. It seemed shameful to me not to answer his honest
frankness by a loyal confession.
"Yes!" I at length said to him, "you are right. I received, about an
hour ago, a letter from your sister; there it is." He took it, ran
through it rapidly, and again let his hands fall upon his knees. The
astonishment that his features expressed would have been laughable, if I
could have laughed at that moment.
"You are a man of honor," he said. "I am not the less embarrassed to
know what to do. How! She asks me to fly, and in this letter she
reproaches herself for her imprudence! But when, then, did she have the
time to write to you? and what are her intentions in regard to you?"
I reassured him, and we applied ourselves, with as much coolness as was
possible, to discuss what we should do. This is the plan which we
finally determined upon to prevent all unhappiness. It was agreed that I
should go to the rendezvous and speak plainly with Annouchka. Gaguine
promised to remain at home, without showing that he had read the letter;
and it was decided, moreover, that we should meet in the evening.
"I have full confidence in you," he said, pressing my hand; "have
consideration for her and for me; but, nevertheless, we will leave
to-morrow," added he, rising, "since it is settled that you will not
marry her."
"Give me until this evening," I replied.
"So be it! you will not marry her!"
He took his departure; I threw myself upon the divan and closed my eyes.
I was dazed; too many thoughts at once crowded into my brain. I was
angry with Gaguine for his frankness; I was angry with Annouchka: her
love filled me with joy--and yet I was afraid of it.
I could not account for her having made a full confession to her
brother. That which above all caused me great pain was the absolute
necessity of making a sudden and almost instantaneous decision.
"Marry a girl of seventeen, with a disposition like that; it is
impossible!" I cried, rising.