As I set off next day to the Gagins, I did not ask myself whether I
was in love with Acia, but I thought a great deal about her, her fate
absorbed me, I rejoiced at our unexpected intimacy. I felt that it was
only yesterday I had got to know her; till then she had turned away
from me. And now, when she had at last revealed herself to me, in what
a seductive light her image showed itself, how fresh it was for me,
what secret fascinations were modestly peeping out.…
I walked boldly up the familiar road, gazing continually at the
cottage, a white spot in the distance. I thought not of the future--not
even of the morrow--I was very happy.
Acia flushed directly I came into the room; I noticed that she had
dressed herself in her best again, but the expression of her face was
not in keeping with her finery; it was mournful. And I had come in
such high spirits! I even fancied that she was on the point of running
away as usual, but she controlled herself and remained. Gagin was in
that peculiar condition of artistic heat and intensity which seizes
amateurs all of a sudden, like a fit, when they imagine they are
succeeding in ‘catching nature and pinning her down.’ He was standing
with dishevelled locks, and besmeared with paint, before a stretched
canvas, and flourishing the brush over it; he almost savagely nodded to
me, turned away, screwed up his eyes, and bent again over his picture.
I did not hinder him, but went and sat down by Acia. Slowly her dark
eyes turned to me.
‘You’re not the same to-day as yesterday,’ I observed, after
ineffectual efforts to call up a smile on her lips.
‘No, I’m not,’ she answered, in a slow and dull voice. ‘But that means
nothing. I did not sleep well, I was thinking all night.’
‘What about?’
‘Oh, I thought about so many things. It’s a way I have had from
childhood; ever since I used to live with mother--’