"Yes!" rang out clearly in the middle of the room illuminated with the
motionless light.
Arátoff doubly repeated his question....
"Yes!" was audible once more.
"Then I want to see thee!" he cried, springing out of bed.
For several moments he stood in one spot, treading the cold floor with
his bare feet. His eyes roved: "But where? Where?" whispered his
lips....
Nothing was to be seen or heard.
He looked about him, and noticed that the faint light which filled the
room proceeded from a night-light, screened by a sheet of paper, and
placed in one corner, probably by Platósha while he was asleep. He even
detected the odour of incense also, in all probability, the work of her
hands.
He hastily dressed himself. Remaining in bed, sleeping, was not to be
thought of.--Then he took up his stand in the centre of the room and
folded his arms. The consciousness of Clara's presence was stronger than
ever within him.
And now he began to speak, in a voice which was not loud, but with the
solemn deliberation wherewith exorcisms are uttered:
"Clara,"--thus did he begin,--"if thou art really here, if thou seest
me, if thou hearest me, reveal thyself!... If that power which I feel
upon me is really thy power,--reveal thyself! If thou understandest how
bitterly I repent of not having understood thee, of having repulsed
thee,--reveal thyself!--If that which I have heard is really thy voice;
if the feeling which has taken possession of me is love; if thou art now
convinced that I love thee,--I who up to this time have not loved, and
have not known a single woman;--if thou knowest that after thy death I
fell passionately, irresistibly in love with thee, if thou dost not wish
me to go mad--reveal thyself!"
No sooner had Arátoff uttered this last word than he suddenly felt some
one swiftly approach him from behind, as on that occasion upon the
boulevard--and lay a hand upon his shoulder. He wheeled round--and saw
no one. But the consciousness of _her_ presence became so distinct, so
indubitable, that he cast another hasty glance behind him....
What was that?! In his arm-chair, a couple of paces from him, sat a
woman all in black. Her head was bent to one side, as in the
stereoscope.... It was she! It was Clara! But what a stern, what a
mournful face!
Arátoff sank down gently upon his knees.--Yes, he was right, then;
neither fear, nor joy was in him, nor even surprise.... His heart even
began to beat more quietly;--The only thing in him was the feeling: "Ah!
At last! At last!"
"Clara," he began in a faint but even tone, "why dost thou not look at
me? I know it is thou ... but I might, seest thou, think that my
imagination had created an image like _that one_...." (He pointed in the
direction of the stereoscope).... "Prove to me that it is thou.... Turn
toward me, look at me, Clara!"
Clara's hand rose slowly ... and fell again.
"Clara! Clara! Turn toward me!"
And Clara's head turned slowly, her drooping lids opened, and the dark
pupils of her eyes were fixed on Arátoff.