Third Night
Translator: Constance Garnett
To-day was a gloomy, rainy day without a glimmer of sunlight, like the old age before me. I am oppressed by such strange thoughts, such gloomy sensations; questions still so obscure to me are crowding into my brain—and I seem to have neither power nor will to settle them. It’s not for me to settle all this!
To-day we shall not meet. Yesterday, when we said good-bye, the clouds began gathering over the sky and a mist rose. I said that to-morrow it would be a bad day; she made no answer, she did not want to speak against her wishes; for her that day was bright and clear, not one cloud should obscure her happiness.
“If it rains we shall not see each other,” she said, “I shall not come.”
I thought that she would not notice to-day’s rain, and yet she has not come.
Yesterday was our third interview, our third white night. …
But how fine joy and happiness makes any one! How brimming over with love the heart is! One seems longing to pour out one’s whole heart; one wants everything to be gay, everything to be laughing. And how infectious that joy is! There was such a softness in her words, such a kindly feeling in her heart towards me yesterday. … How solicitous and friendly she was; how tenderly she tried to give me courage! Oh, the coquetry of happiness! While I … I took it all for the genuine thing, I thought that she. …
But, my God, how could I have thought it? How could I have been so blind, when everything had been taken by another already, when nothing was mine; when, in fact, her very tenderness to me, her anxiety, her love … yes, love for me, was nothing else but joy at the thought of seeing another man so soon, desire to include me, too, in her happiness? … When he did not come, when we waited in vain, she frowned, she grew timid and discouraged. Her movements, her words, were no longer so light, so playful, so gay; and, strange to say, she redoubled her attentiveness to me, as though instinctively desiring to lavish on me what she desired for herself so anxiously, if her wishes were not accomplished. My Nastenka was so downcast, so dismayed, that I think she realized at last that I loved her, and was sorry for my poor love. So when we are unhappy we feel the unhappiness of others more; feeling is not destroyed but concentrated. …
I went to meet her with a full heart, and was all impatience. I had no presentiment that I should feel as I do now, that it would not all end happily. She was beaming with pleasure; she was expecting an answer. The answer was himself. He was to come, to run at her call. She arrived a whole hour before I did. At first she giggled at everything, laughed at every word I said. I began talking, but relapsed into silence.
“Do you know why I am so glad,” she said, “so glad to look at you?—why I like you so much to-day?”
“Well?” I asked, and my heart began throbbing.
“I like you because you have not fallen in love with me. You know that some men in your place would have been pestering and worrying me, would have been sighing and miserable, while you are so nice!”
Then she wrung my hand so hard that I almost cried out. She laughed.
“Goodness, what a friend you are!” she began gravely a minute later. “God sent you to me. What would have happened to me if you had not been with me now? How disinterested you are! How truly you care for me! When I am married we will be great friends, more than brother and sister; I shall care almost as I do for him. …”
I felt horribly sad at that moment, yet something like laughter was stirring in my soul.
“You are very much upset,” I said; “you are frightened; you think he won’t come.”
“Oh dear!” she answered; “if I were less happy, I believe I should cry at your lack of faith, at your reproaches. However, you have made me think and have given me a lot to think about; but I shall think later, and now I will own that you are right. Yes, I am somehow not myself; I am all suspense, and feel everything as it were too lightly. But hush! that’s enough about feelings. …”
At that moment we heard footsteps, and in the darkness we saw a figure coming towards us. We both started; she almost cried out; I dropped her hand and made a movement as though to walk away. But we were mistaken, it was not he.
“What are you afraid of? Why did you let go of my hand?” she said, giving it to me again. “Come, what is it? We will meet him together; I want him to see how fond we are of each other.”
“How fond we are of each other!” I cried. (“Oh, Nastenka, Nastenka,” I thought, “how much you have told me in that saying! Such fondness at certain moments makes the heart cold and the soul heavy. Your hand is cold, mine burns like fire. How blind you are, Nastenka! … Oh, how unbearable a happy person is sometimes! But I could not be angry with you!”)
At last my heart was too full.
“Listen, Nastenka!” I cried. “Do you know how it has been with me all day.”
“Why, how, how? Tell me quickly! Why have you said nothing all this time?”
“To begin with, Nastenka, when I had carried out all your commissions, given the letter, gone to see your good friends, then … then I went home and went to bed.”
“Is that all?” she interrupted, laughing.
“Yes, almost all,” I answered restraining myself, for foolish tears were already starting into my eyes. “I woke an hour before our appointment, and yet, as it were, I had not been asleep. I don’t know what happened to me. I came to tell you all about it, feeling as though time were standing still, feeling as though one sensation, one feeling must remain with me from that time for ever; feeling as though one minute must go on for all eternity, and as though all life had come to a standstill for me. … When I woke up it seemed as though some musical motive long familiar, heard somewhere in the past, forgotten and voluptuously sweet, had come back to me now. It seemed to me that it had been clamouring at my heart all my life, and only now. …”
“Oh my goodness, my goodness,” Nastenka interrupted, “what does all that mean? I don’t understand a word.”
“All, Nastenka, I wanted somehow to convey to you that strange impression. …” I began in a plaintive voice, in which there still lay hid a hope, though a very faint one.
“Leave off. Hush!” she said, and in one instant the sly puss had guessed.
Suddenly she became extraordinarily talkative, gay, mischievous; she took my arm, laughed, wanted me to laugh too, and every confused word I uttered evoked from her prolonged ringing laughter. … I began to feel angry, she had suddenly begun flirting.
“Do you know,” she began, “I feel a little vexed that you are not in love with me? There’s no understanding human nature! But all the same, Mr. Unapproachable, you cannot blame me for being so simple; I tell you everything, everything, whatever foolish thought comes into my head.”
“Listen! That’s eleven, I believe,” I said as the slow chime of a bell rang out from a distant tower. She suddenly stopped, left off laughing and began to count.
“Yes, it’s eleven,” she said at last in a timid, uncertain voice.
I regretted at once that I had frightened her, making her count the strokes, and I cursed myself for my spiteful impulse; I felt sorry for her, and did not know how to atone for what I had done.
I began comforting her, seeking for reasons for his not coming, advancing various arguments, proofs. No one could have been easier to deceive than she was at that moment; and, indeed, any one at such a moment listens gladly to any consolation, whatever it may be, and is overjoyed if a shadow of excuse can be found.
“And indeed it’s an absurd thing,” I began, warming to my task and admiring the extraordinary clearness of my argument, “why, he could not have come; you have muddled and confused me, Nastenka, so that I too, have lost count of the time. … Only think: he can scarcely have received the letter; suppose he is not able to come, suppose he is going to answer the letter, could not come before to-morrow. I will go for it as soon as it’s light to-morrow and let you know at once. Consider, there are thousands of possibilities; perhaps he was not at home when the letter came, and may not have read it even now! Anything may happen, you know.”
“Yes, yes!” said Nastenka. “I did not think of that. Of course anything may happen?” she went on in a tone that offered no opposition, though some other far-away thought could be heard like a vexatious discord in it. “I tell you what you must do,” she said, “you go as early as possible to-morrow morning, and if you get anything let me know at once. You know where I live, don’t you?”
And she began repeating her address to me.
Then she suddenly became so tender, so solicitous with me. She seemed to listen attentively to what I told her; but when I asked her some question she was silent, was confused, and turned her head away. I looked into her eyes—yes, she was crying.
“How can you? How can you? Oh, what a baby you are! what childishness! … Come, come!”
She tried to smile, to calm herself, but her chin was quivering and her bosom was still heaving.
“I was thinking about you,” she said after a minute’s silence. “You are so kind that I should be a stone if I did not feel it. Do you know what has occurred to me now? I was comparing you two. Why isn’t he you? He is not as good as you, though I love him more than you.”
I made no answer. She seemed to expect me to say something.
“Of course, it may be that I don’t understand him fully yet. You know I was always as it were afraid of him; he was always so grave, as it were so proud. Of course I know it’s only that he seems like that, I know there is more tenderness in his heart than in mine … I remember how he looked at me when I went in to him—do you remember?—with my bundle; but yet I respect him too much, and doesn’t that show that we are not equals?”
“No, Nastenka, no,” I answered, “it shows that you love him more than anything in the world, and far more than yourself.”
“Yes, supposing that is so,” answered Nastenka naïvely. “But do you know what strikes me now? Only I am not talking about him now, but speaking generally; all this came into my mind some time ago. Tell me, how is it that we can’t all be like brothers together? Why is it that even the best of men always seem to hide something from other people and to keep something back? Why not say straight out what is in one’s heart, when one knows that one is not speaking idly? As it is every one seems harsher than he really is, as though all were afraid of doing injustice to their feelings, by being too quick to express them.”
“Oh, Nastenka, what you say is true; but there are many reasons for that,” I broke in suppressing my own feelings at that moment more than ever.
“No, no!” she answered with deep feeling. “Here you, for instance, are not like other people! I really don’t know how to tell you what I feel; but it seems to me that you, for instance … at the present moment … it seems to me that you are sacrificing something for me,” she added timidly, with a fleeting glance at me. “Forgive me for saying so, I am a simple girl you know. I have seen very little of life, and I really sometimes don’t know how to say things,” she added in a voice that quivered with some hidden feeling, while she tried to smile; “but I only wanted to tell you that I am grateful, that I feel it all too … Oh, may God give you happiness for it! What you told me about your dreamer is quite untrue now—that is, I mean, it’s not true of you. You are recovering, you are quite a different man from what you described. If you ever fall in love with some one, God give you happiness with her! I won’t wish anything for her, for she will be happy with you. I know, I am a woman myself, so you must believe me when I tell you so.”
She ceased speaking, and pressed my hand warmly. I too could not speak without emotion. Some minutes passed.
“Yes, it’s clear he won’t come to-night,” she said at last raising her head. “It’s late.”
“He will come to-morrow,” I said in the most firm and convincing tone.
“Yes,” she added with no sign of her former depression. “I see for myself now that he could not come till to-morrow. Well, good-bye, till to-morrow. If it rains perhaps I shall not come. But the day after to-morrow, I shall come. I shall come for certain, whatever happens; be sure to be here, I want to see you, I will tell you everything.”
And then when we parted she gave me her hand and said, looking at me candidly: “We shall always be together, shan’t we?”
Oh, Nastenka, Nastenka! If only you knew how lonely I am now!
As soon as it struck nine o’clock I could not stay indoors, but put on my things, and went out in spite of the weather. I was there, sitting on our seat. I went to her street, but I felt ashamed, and turned back without looking at their windows, when I was two steps from her door. I went home more depressed than I had ever been before. What a damp, dreary day! If it had been fine I should have walked about all night. …
But to-morrow, to-morrow! To-morrow she will tell me everything. The letter has not come to-day, however. But that was to be expected. They are together by now…
Fourth Night
Translator: Constance Garnett
My God, how it has all ended! What it has all ended in! I arrived at nine o’clock. She was already there. I noticed her a good way off; she was standing as she had been that first time, with her elbows on the railing, and she did not hear me coming up to her.
“Nastenka!” I called to her, suppressing my agitation with an effort.
She turned to me quickly.
“Well?” she said. “Well? Make haste!”
I looked at her in perplexity.
“Well, where is the letter? Have you brought the letter,” she repeated clutching at the railing.
“No, there is no letter,” I said at last. “Hasn’t he been to you yet?” She turned fearfully pale and looked at me for a long time without moving. I had shattered her last hope.
“Well, God be with him,” she said at last in a breaking voice; “God be with him if he leaves me like that.”
She dropped her eyes, then tried to look at me and could not. For several minutes she was struggling with her emotion. All at once she turned away, leaning her elbows against the railing and burst into tears.
“Oh don’t, don’t!” I began; but looking at her I had not the heart to go on, and what was I to say to her?
“Don’t try and comfort me,” she said; “don’t talk about him; don’t tell me that he will come, that he has not cast me off so cruelly and so inhumanly as he has. What for—what for? Can there have been something in my letter, that unlucky letter?”
At that point sobs stifled her voice; my heart was torn as I looked at her.
“Oh, how inhumanly cruel it is!” she began again. “And not a line, not a line! He might at least have written that he does not want me, that he rejects me—but not a line for three days! How easy it is for him to wound, to insult a poor, defenceless girl, whose only fault is that she loves him! Oh, what I’ve suffered during these three days! Oh, dear! When I think that I was the first to go to him, that I humbled myself before him, cried, that I begged of him a little love! … and after that! Listen,” she said, turning to me, and her black eyes flashed, “it isn’t so! It can’t be so; it isn’t natural. Either you are mistaken or I; perhaps he has not received the letter? Perhaps he still knows nothing about it? How could any one—judge for yourself, tell me, for goodness’ sake explain it to me, I can’t understand it—how could any one behave with such barbarous coarseness as he has behaved to me? Not one word! Why, the lowest creature on earth is treated more compassionately. Perhaps he has heard something, perhaps some one has told him something about me,” she cried, turning to me inquiringly: “What do you think?”
“Listen, Nastenka, I shall go to him to-morrow in your name.”
“Yes?”
“I will question him about everything; I will tell him everything.”
“Yes, yes?”
“You write a letter. Don’t say no, Nastenka, don’t say no! I will make him respect your action, he shall hear all about it, and if——”
“No, my friend, no,” she interrupted, “Enough! Not another word, not another line from me—enough! I don’t know him; I don’t love him any more. I will … forget him.”
She could not go on.
“Calm yourself, calm yourself! Sit here, Nastenka,” I said, making her sit down on the seat.
“I am calm. Don’t trouble. It’s nothing! It’s only tears, they will soon dry. Why, do you imagine I shall do away with myself, that I shall throw myself into the river?”
My heart was full: I tried to speak, but I could not.
“Listen,” she said taking my hand. “Tell me: you wouldn’t have behaved like this, would you? You would not have abandoned a girl who had come to you of herself, you would not have thrown into her face a shameless taunt at her weak foolish heart? You would have taken care of her? You would have realized that she was alone, that she did not know how to look after herself, that she could not guard herself from loving you, that it was not her fault, not her fault—that she had done nothing. … Oh dear, oh dear!”
“Nastenka!” I cried at last unable, to control my emotion. “Nastenka, you torture me! You wound my heart, you are killing me, Nastenka! I cannot be silent! I must speak at last, give utterance to what is surging in my heart!”
As I said this I got up from the seat. She took my hand and looked at me in surprise.
“What is the matter with you?” she said at last.
“Listen,” I said resolutely. “Listen to me, Nastenka! What I am going to say to you now is all nonsense, all impossible, all stupid! I know that this can never be, but I cannot be silent. For the sake of what you are suffering now, I beg you beforehand to forgive me!”
“What is it? What is it?” she said drying her tears and looking at me intently, while a strange curiosity gleamed in her astonished eyes. “What is the matter?”
“It’s impossible, but I love you, Nastenka! There it is! Now everything is told,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Now you will see whether you can go on talking to me as you did just now, whether you can listen to what I am going to say to you.” …
“Well, what then?” Nastenka interrupted me. “What of it? I knew you loved me long ago, only I always thought that you simply liked me very much. … Oh dear, oh dear!”
“At first it was simply liking, Nastenka, but now, now! I am just in the same position as you were when you went to him with your bundle. In a worse position than you, Nastenka, because he cared for no one else as you do.”
“What are you saying to me! I don’t understand you in the least. But tell me, what’s this for; I don’t mean what for, but why are you … so suddenly. … Oh dear, I am talking nonsense! But you. …
And Nastenka broke off in confusion. Her cheeks flamed; she dropped her eyes.
“What’s to be done, Nastenka, what am I to do? I am to blame. I have abused your. … But no, no, I am not to blame, Nastenka; I feel that, I know that, because my heart tells me I am right, for I cannot hurt you in any way, I cannot wound you! I was your friend, but I am still your friend, I have betrayed no trust. Here my tears are falling, Nastenka. Let them flow, let them flow—they don’t hurt anybody. They will dry, Nastenka.”
“Sit down, sit down,” she said, making me sit down on the seat. “Oh, my God!”
“No, Nastenka, I won’t sit down; I cannot stay here any longer, you cannot see me again; I will tell you everything and go away. I only want to say that you would never have found out that I loved you. I should have kept my secret. I would not have worried you at such a moment with my egoism. No! But I could not resist it now; you spoke of it yourself, it is your fault, your fault and not mine. You cannot drive me away from you.”…
“No, no, I don’t drive you away, no!” said Nastenka, concealing her confusion as best she could, poor child.
“You don’t drive me away? No! But I meant to run from you myself. I will go away, but first I will tell you all, for when you were crying here I could not sit unmoved, when you wept, when you were in torture at being—at being—I will speak of it, Nastenka—at being forsaken, at your love being repulsed, I felt that in my heart there was so much love for you, Nastenka, so much love! And it seemed so bitter that I could not help you with my love, that my heart was breaking and I … I could not be silent, I had to speak, Nastenka, I had to speak!”
“Yes, yes! tell me, talk to me,” said Nastenka with an indescribable gesture. “Perhaps you think it strange that I talk to you like this, but … speak! I will tell you afterwards! I will tell you everything.”
“You are sorry for me, Nastenka, you are simply sorry for me, my dear little friend! What’s done can’t be mended. What is said cannot be taken back. Isn’t that so? Well, now you know. That’s the starting-point. Very well. Now it’s all right, only listen. When you were sitting crying I thought to myself (oh, let me tell you what I was thinking!), I thought, that (of course it cannot be, Nastenka), I thought that you … I thought that you somehow … quite apart from me, had ceased to love him. Then—I thought that yesterday and the day before yesterday, Nastenka—then I would—I certainly would—have succeeded in making you love me; you know, you said yourself, Nastenka, that you almost loved me. Well, what next? Well, that’s nearly all I wanted to tell you; all that is left to say is how it would be if you loved me, only that, nothing more! Listen, my friend—for anyway you are my friend—I am, of course, a poor, humble man, of no great consequence; but that’s not the point (I don’t seem to be able to say what I mean, Nastenka, I am so confused), only I would love you, I would love you so, that even if you still loved him, even if you went on loving the man I don’t know, you would never feel that my love was a burden to you. You would only feel every minute that at your side was beating a grateful, grateful heart, a warm heart ready for your sake. … Oh Nastenka, Nastenka! What have you done to me?”
“Don’t cry; I don’t want you to cry,” said Nastenka getting up quickly from the seat. “Come along, get up, come with me, don’t cry, don’t cry,” she said, drying her tears wth her handkerchief; “let us go now; maybe I will tell you something. … If he has forsaken me now, if he has forgotten me, though I still love him (I do not want to deceive you) … but listen, answer me. If I were to love you, for instance, that is, if I only. … Oh my friend, my friend! To think, to think how I wounded you, when I laughed at your love, when I praised you for not falling in love with me. Oh dear! How was it I did not foresee this, how was it I did not foresee this, how could I have been so stupid? But … Well, I have made up my mind, I will tell you.”
“Look here, Nastenka, do you know what? I’ll go away, that’s what I’ll do. I am simply tormenting you. Here you are remorseful for having laughed at me, and I won’t have you … in addition to your sorrow. … Of course it is my fault, Nastenka, but good-bye!”
“Stay, listen to me: can you wait?”
“What for? How?”
“I love him; but I shall get over it, I must get over it, I cannot fail to get over it; I am getting over it, I feel that. … Who knows? Perhaps it will all end to-day, for I hate him, for he has been laughing at me, while you have been weeping here with me, for you have not repulsed me as he has, for you love me while he has never loved me, for in fact, I love you myself. … Yes, I love you! I love you as you love me; I have told you so before, you heard it yourself I love you because you are better than he is, because you are nobler than he is, because, because he——”
The poor girl’s. emotion was so violent that she could not say more; she laid her head upon my shoulder, then upon my bosom, and wept bitterly. I comforted her, I persuaded her, but she could not stop crying; she kept pressing my hand, and saying between her sobs: “Wait, wait, it will be over in a minute! I want to tell you … you mustn’t think that these tears—it’s nothing, it’s weakness, wait till it’s over.” … At last she left off crying, dried her eyes and we walked on again. I wanted to speak, but she still begged me to wait. We were silent. … At last she plucked up courage and began to speak.
“It’s like this,” she began in a weak and quivering voice, in which, however, there was a note that pierced my heart with a sweet pang; “don’t think that I am so light and inconstant, don’t think that I can forget and change so quickly. I have loved him for a whole year, and I swear by God that I have never, never, even in thought, been unfaithful to him. … He has despised me, he has been laughing at me—God forgive him! But he has insulted me and wounded my heart. I … I do not love him, for I can only love what is magnanimous, what understands me, what is generous; for I am like that myself and he is not worthy of me—well, that’s enough of him. He has done better than if he had deceived my expectations later, and shown me later what he was. … Well, it’s over! But who knows, my dear friend,” she went on pressing my hand, “who knows, perhaps my whole love was a mistaken feeling, a delusion perhaps it began in mischief, in nonsense, because I was kept so strictly by grandmother? Perhaps I ought to love another man, not him, a different man, who would have pity on me and … and … But don’t let us say any more about that,” Nastenka broke off, breathless with emotion, “I only wanted to tell you … I wanted to tell you that if, although I love him (no, did love him), if, in spite of this you still say. … If you feel that your love is so great that it may at last drive from my heart my old feeling—if you will have pity on me—if you do not want to leave me alone to my fate, without hope, without consolation—if you are ready to love me always as you do now—I swear to you that gratitude … that my love will be at last worthy of your love. … Will you take my hand?”
“Nastenka!” I cried breathless with sobs. “Nastenka, oh Nastenka!”
“Enough, enough! Well, now it’s quite enough,” she said, hardly able to control herself. “Well, now all has been said, hasn’t it? Hasn’t it? You are happy I am happy too. Not another word about it, wait; spare me. … talk of something else, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, Nastenka, yes! Enough about that, now I am happy. I—— Yes, Nastenka, yes, let us talk of other things, let us make haste and talk. Yes! I am ready.”
And we did not know what to say: we laughed, we wept, we said thousands of things meaningless and incoherent; at one moment we walked along the pavement, then suddenly turned back and crossed the road; then we stopped and went back again to the embankment; we were like children.
“I am living alone now, Nastenka,” I began, “but to-morrow! Of course you know, Nastenka, I am poor, I have only got twelve hundred roubles, but that doesn’t matter.”
“Of course not, and granny has her pension, so she will be no burden. We must take granny.”
“Of course we must take granny. But there’s Matrona.”
“Yes, and we’ve got Fyokla too!”
“Matrona is a good woman, but she has one fault: she has no imagination, Nastenka, absolutely none; but that doesn’t matter.”
“That’s all right—they can live together; only you must move to us to-morrow.”
“To you? How so? All right, I am ready.”
“Yes, hire a room from us. We have a top floor, it’s empty. We had an old lady lodging there, but she has gone away; and I know granny would like to have a young man. I said to her, ‘Why a young man?’ And she said, ‘Oh, because I am old; only don’t you fancy, Nastenka, that I want him as a husband for you.’ So I guessed it was with that idea.”
“Oh, Nastenka!”
And we both laughed.
“Come, that’s enough, that’s enough. But where do you live? I’ve forgotten.”
“Over that way, near X bridge, Barannikov’s Buildings.”
“It’s that big house?”
“Yes, that big house.”
“Oh, I know, a nice house; only you know you had better give it up and come to us as soon as possible.”
“To-morrow, Nastenka, to-morrow; I owe a little for my rent there but that doesn’t matter. I shall soon get my salary.”
“And do you know I will perhaps give lessons; I will learn something myself and then give lessons.”
“Capital! And I shall soon get a bonus.”
“So by to-morrow you will be my lodger.”
“And we will go to The Barber of Seville, for they are soon going to give it again.”
“Yes, we’ll go,” said Nastenka, “but better see something else and not The Barber of Seville.”
“Very well, something else. Of course that will be better, I did not think——”
As we talked like this we walked along in a sort of delirium, a sort of intoxication, as though we did not know what was happening to us. At one moment we stopped and talked for a long time at the same place; then we went on again, and goodness knows where we went; and again tears and again laughter. All of a sudden Nastenka would want to go home, and I would not dare to detain her but would want to see her to the house; we set off, and in a quarter of an hour found ourselves at the embankment by our seat. Then she would sigh, and tears would come into her eyes again; I would turn chill with dismay. … But she would press my hand and force me to walk, to talk, to chatter as before.
“It’s time I was home at last; I think it must be very late,” Nastenka said at last. “We must give over being childish.”
“Yes, Nastenka, only I shan’t sleep to-night; I am not going home.”
“I don’t think I shall sleep either; only see me home.”
“I should think so!”
“Only this time we really must get to the house.”
“We must, we must.”
“Honour bright? For you know one must go home some time!”
“Honour bright,” I answered laughing.
“Well, come along! ”
“Come along! Look at the sky, Nastenka. Look! Tomorrow it will be a lovely day; what a blue sky, what a moon! Look; that yellow cloud is covering it now, look, look! No, it has passed by. Look, look ”
But Nastenka did not look at the cloud; she stood mute as though turned to stone; a minute later she huddled timidly close up to me. Her hand trembled in my hand; I looked at her. She pressed still more closely to me.
At that moment a young man passed by us. He suddenly stopped, looked at us intently, and then again took a few steps on. My heart began throbbing.
“Who is it. Nastenka?” I said in an undertone.
“It’s he,” she answered in a whisper, huddling up to me, still more closely, still more tremulously. … I could hardly stand on my feet.
“Nastenka, Nastenka! It’s you!” I heard a voice behind us and at the same moment the young man took several steps towards us.
My God, how she cried out! How she started! How she tore herself out of my arms and rushed to meet him! I stood and looked at them, utterly crushed. But she had hardly given him her hand, had hardly flung herself into his arms, when she turned to me again, was beside me again in a flash, and before I knew where I was she threw both arms round my neck and gave me a warm, tender kiss. Then, without saying a word to me, she rushed back to him again, took his hand, and drew him after her.
I stood a long time looking after them. At last the two vanished from my sight.
