anybody
know that we were there!"

"It HAS been a delightful evening, hasn't it?" I asked her in a low,
tremulous voice. Then I quickened my steps--as much out of fear of what
I had said as out of fear of what I had meant to imply.

"Yes, VERY!" she answered, and turned her face to look at me with an
expression so kind that I ceased to be afraid. I went on:

"Particularly since supper. Yet if you could only know how I regret" (I
had nearly said) "how miserable I am at your going, and to think that
we shall see each other no more!"

"But why SHOULDN'T we?" she asked, looking gravely at the corner of
her pocket-handkerchief, and gliding her fingers over a latticed screen
which we were passing. "Every Tuesday and Friday I go with Mamma to the
Iverskoi Prospect. I suppose you go for walks too sometimes?"

"Well, certainly I shall ask to go for one next Tuesday, and, if they
won't take me I shall go by myself--even without my hat, if necessary. I
know the way all right."

"Do you know what I have just thought of?" she went on. "You know, I
call some of the boys who come to see us THOU. Shall you and I call each
other THOU too? Wilt THOU?" she added, bending her head towards me and
looking me straight in the eyes.

At this moment a more lively section of the Grosvater dance began.

"Give me your hand," I said, under the impression that the music and din
would drown my exact words, but she smilingly replied, "THY hand, not
YOUR hand." Yet the dance was over before I had succeeded in saying
THOU, even though I kept conning over phrases in which the pronoun could
be employed--and employed more than once. All that I wanted was the
courage to say it.

"Wilt THOU?" and "THY hand" sounded continually in my ears, and caused
in me a kind of intoxication I could hear and see nothing but Sonetchka.
I watched her mother take her curls, lay them flat behind her ears (thus
disclosing portions of her forehead and temples which I had not yet
seen), and wrap her up so completely in the green shawl that nothing was
left visible but the tip of her nose. Indeed, I could see that, if her
little rosy fingers had not made a small, opening near her mouth, she
would have been unable to breathe. Finally I saw her leave her mother's
arm for an instant on the staircase, and turn and nod to us quickly
before she disappeared through the doorway.

Woloda, the Iwins, the young Prince Etienne, and myself were all of us
in love with Sonetchka and