ch coarse natures regard as
expressions of sympathy where love is concerned. And yet no one spoke to
her, nor disturbed her. There was only the disquieting consciousness of
the Cossack's curious scrutiny to remind her that all things were not as
they had been yesterday.

The hours of the morning seemed endless. On all other days, Vjera was
accustomed to see the Count's quiet face opposite to her, and when she was
most weary of her monotonous toil, a glance at him gave her fresh courage,
and turned the currents of her thoughts into a channel not always smooth
indeed, but long familiar and never wearisome to follow. The stream
emptied, it is true, into the dead sea of doubt, and each time, as she
ended the journey of her fancy, she felt the cruel chill of the
conclusion, as though she had in reality fallen into a deep, dark water;
but she was always able to renew the voyage, to return to the
fountain-head of love, enjoying at least the pleasant, smooth reaches of
the river, that lay between the racing rapids and the tumbling falls.

But to-day there was no one at the little table opposite, and Vjera's
reflections would not be guided in their familiar course. Her heart
yearned for the lonely man who, on that day, sat in the solitude of his
poor chamber confidently expecting the messengers of good tidings who
never came. She wondered what expression was on his face, as he watched
the door and listened for the fall of feet upon the stairs. She knew, for
she knew his nature, that he had carefully dressed himself in what he had
that was best, in order to receive decently the long-expected visit; she
fancied that he would move thoughtfully about the narrow room, trying to
give it a feebly festive look in accordance with his own inward happiness.
He would forget to eat, as he sat there, hearing the hours chime one after
another, seeing the sun rise higher and higher until noon and watching the
lengthening shadows of the chimneys on the roofs as day declined. More
than all, she wondered what that dreadful moment could be like when, each
week, he gave up hope at last, and saw that it had all been a dream. She
had seen him more than once, towards the evening of the regularly
recurring day, still confidently expecting the coming of his friends,
explaining that they must come by the last train, and hastening away in
order to be ready to receive them. Somewhere between the Wednesday evening
and the Thursday morning there must be an ho