I passed through the town and walked straight ahead to the fields. A
feeling of vexed disappointment filled my heart. I loaded myself with
reproaches. Why did I not appreciate the motive that had induced this
young girl to change the place of our meeting? Why did I not appreciate
how hard it would be for her to go to this old woman's house? Why,
finally, did I not stay away?
Alone with her in that dark, isolated room, I had had the courage to
thrust her away, and to remonstrate with her; and, now her image pursued
me, I asked her pardon--her pale face, her eyes timid and full of tears;
her hair in disorder, flowing over her bended neck; the touch of her
forehead as it rested upon my breast; all these remembrances made me
beside myself, and I thought I still heard her murmuring, "I am yours!"
I reflected: I have obeyed the voice of my conscience.--But no? it was
false! for, most certainly, I should never have wished in my heart for
such a _dénouement_.--And, then, to be separated from her, to live
without her, shall I have the strength?--"Fool! miserable fool that I
am!" I cried angrily.
In the meantime night was approaching. I directed my hurried steps
towards the dwelling of Annouchka.