"Now," I replied, "all is lost,--all, absolutely all."
Annouchka attempted to rise.
"Stay!" I cried. "Stay, I beseech you; fear nothing, you have to do with
a man of honor! But, for heaven's sake, speak! What has frightened you?
Have I changed towards you? As to myself, when your brother came to me
yesterday, I could not do otherwise than tell him what our relations
were."
"Why tell her all that?" I thought to myself, and the idea that I was a
cowardly deceiver, that Gaguine was aware of our rendezvous, that all
was disclosed--lost beyond redemption--immediately crossed my mind.
"I did not send for my brother last night," she said, with a choking
voice, "he came of himself."
"But do you see what this has led to? Now you wish to go away."
"Yes, I must go," she said, in a very low voice. "I besought you to come
here to say farewell."
"And you think, perhaps, that to part from you costs me nothing?"
"But why was it necessary to confide in my brother?" replied Annouchka
in a stupefied tone.
"I repeat to you, I could not do otherwise. If you had not betrayed
yourself"--
"I was shut up in my room," she replied naïvely. "I did not know that
the landlady had another key."
This innocent excuse at the moment put me in a rage; and now I cannot
think of it without deep emotion. Poor child, what an upright and frank
soul!
"So all is at an end," I replied once more; "at an end--; and we must
part."
I looked at her furtively. The color mounted to her face; shame and
terror--I felt it only too keenly--seized her. On my side, I walked to
and fro, speaking as if in delirium.
"There was in my heart," I continued, "a feeling just springing up,
which, if you had left it to time, would have developed! You have
yourself broken the bond that united us; you have failed to put
confidence in me."
While I spoke, Annouchka leaned forward more and more.--Suddenly she
fell upon her knees, hid her face in her hands, and began to sob. I ran
to her, I attempted to raise her, but she resisted obstinately.