an't stay here," she
said sarcastically. "I can imagine how miserable you would be if
you were in love with me! Wait a bit: one day I shall throw myself
on your neck. . . . I shall see with what horror you will run away
from me. That would be interesting."

Her words and her pale face were angry, but her eyes were full of
tender passionate love. I already looked upon this lovely creature
as my property, and then for the first time I noticed that she had
golden eyebrows, exquisite eyebrows. I had never seen such eyebrows
before. The thought that I might at once press her to my heart,
caress her, touch her wonderful hair, seemed to me such a miracle
that I laughed and shut my eyes.

"It's bed-time now. . . . A peaceful night," she said.

"I don't want a peaceful night," I said, laughing, following her
into the drawing-room. "I shall curse this night if it is a peaceful
one."

Pressing her hand, and escorting her to the door, I saw by her face
that she understood me, and was glad that I understood her, too.

I went to my room. Near the books on the table lay Dmitri Petrovitch's
cap, and that reminded me of his affection for me. I took my stick
and went out into the garden. The mist had risen here, too, and the
same tall, narrow, ghostly shapes which I had seen earlier on the
river were trailing round the trees and bushes and wrapping about
them. What a pity I could not talk to them!

In the extraordinarily transparent air, each leaf, each drop of dew
stood out distinctly; it was all smiling at me in the stillness
half asleep, and as I passed the green seats I recalled the words
in some play of Shakespeare's: "How sweetly falls the moonlight on
yon seat!"

There was a mound in the garden; I went up it and sat down. I was
tormented by a delicious feeling. I knew for certain that in a
moment I should hold in my arms, should press to my heart her
magnificent body, should kiss her golden eyebrows; and I wanted to
disbelieve it, to tantalize myself, and was sorry that she had cost
me so little trouble and had yielded so soon.

But suddenly I heard heavy footsteps. A man of medium height appeared
in the avenue, and I recognized him at once as Forty Martyrs. He
sat down on the bench and heaved a deep sigh, then crossed himself
three times and lay down. A minute later he got up and lay on the
other side. The gnats and the dampness of the night prevented his
sleeping.

"Oh, life!" he said. "Wretched, bitter life!"

Lo