‘I love you, I am in love with you,’ repeated Vera.
She went out and shut the door after her. I will not try to describe
what passed within me then. I remember I went out into the garden, made
my way into a thicket, leaned against a tree, and how long I stood
there, I could not say. I felt faint and numb; a feeling of bliss came
over my heart with a rush from time to time.… No, I cannot speak of
that. Priemkov’s voice roused me from my stupor; they had sent to tell
him I had come: he had come home from shooting and was looking for
me. He was surprised at finding me alone in the garden, without a hat
on, and he led me into the house. ‘My wife’s in the drawing-room,’ he
observed; ‘let’s go to her.’ You can imagine my sensations as I stepped
through the doorway of the drawing-room. Vera was sitting in the
corner, at her embroidery frame; I stole a glance at her, and it was a
long while before I raised my eyes again. To my amazement, she seemed
composed; there was no trace of agitation in what she said, nor in the
sound of her voice. At last I brought myself to look at her. Our eyes
met.… She faintly blushed, and bent over her canvas. I began to watch
her. She seemed, as it were, perplexed; a cheerless smile hung about
her lips now and then.
Priemkov went out. She suddenly raised her head and in a rather loud
voice asked me--‘What do you intend to do now?’
I was taken aback, and hurriedly, in a subdued voice, answered, that I
intended to do the duty of an honest man--to go away, ‘for,’ I added,
‘I love you, Vera Nikolaevna, you have probably seen that long ago.’
She bent over her canvas again and seemed to ponder.
‘I must talk with you,’ she said; ‘come this evening after tea to our
little house … you know, where you read _Faust_.’
She said this so distinctly that I can’t to this day conceive how it
was Priemkov, who came into the room at that instant, heard nothing.
Slowly, terribly slowly, passed that day. Vera sometimes looked about
her with an expression as though she were asking herself if she were
not dreaming. And at the same time there was a look of determination
in her face; while I … I could not recover myself. Vera loves me!
These words were continually going round and round in my head; but I
did not understand them--I neither understood myself nor her. I could
not believe in such unhoped-for, such overwhelming happiness; with an
effort I recalled the past, and I too looked and talked as in a dream.…
After evening tea, when I had already begun to think how I could steal
out of the house unobserved, she suddenly announced of her own accord
that she wanted a walk, and asked me to accompany her. I got up, took
my hat, and followed her. I did not dare begin to speak, I could
scarcely breathe, I awaited her first word, I awaited explanations; but
she did not speak. In silence we reached the summer-house, in silence
we went into it, and then--I don’t know to this day, I can’t understand
how it happened--we suddenly found ourselves in each other’s arms. Some
unseen force flung me to her and her to me. In the fading daylight,
her face, with the curls tossed back, lighted up for an instant with a
smile of self-surrender and tenderness, and our lips met in a kiss.…
That kiss was the first and last.
Vera suddenly broke from my arms and with an expression of horror in
her wide open eyes staggered back----
‘Look round,’ she said in a shaking voice; ‘do you see nothing?’