I could not help smiling at the old man’s letter. I was in no condition
to write to my father, and to calm my mother his letter seemed
sufficient.
From that day, Marie scarcely spoke to me, and even tried to avoid me.
The Commandant’s house became insupportable, and I accustomed myself,
little by little, to remain alone in my room. At first Basilia reasoned
with me, but seeing my persistency she let me alone. I saw Ivan Mironoff
only when the service required it. I had but rare interviews with
Alexis, for whom my antipathy increased, because I thought I discovered
in him a secret enmity which confirmed my suspicions. Life became a
burden; I gave myself up to a melancholy which was fed by solitude and
inaction. Love burned on in silence and tortured me, more and more.
I lost all taste for reading and literature; I let myself become
completely depressed; and I feared that I should either become a lunatic
or rush into dissipation, when events occurred that had great influence
on my life and give a strong and healthy tone to my mind.