sentimental tendencies, but his praises were hurried, his advice dry,
and in general he talked less to Arkady than before ... he seemed to
avoid him, seemed ill at ease with him.

Arkady observed it all, but he kept his observations to himself.

The real cause of all this 'newness' was the feeling inspired in
Bazarov by Madame Odintsov, a feeling which tortured and maddened him,
and which he would at once have denied, with scornful laughter and
cynical abuse, if any one had ever so remotely hinted at the
possibility of what was taking place in him. Bazarov had a great love
for women and for feminine beauty; but love in the ideal, or, as he
expressed it, romantic sense, he called lunacy, unpardonable
imbecility; he regarded chivalrous sentiments as something of the
nature of deformity or disease, and had more than once expressed his
wonder that Toggenburg and all the minnesingers and troubadours had not
been put into a lunatic asylum. 'If a woman takes your fancy,' he used
to say, 'try and gain your end; but if you can't--well, turn your back
on her--there are lots of good fish in the sea.' Madame Odintsov had
taken his fancy; the rumours about her, the freedom and independence of
her ideas, her unmistakable liking for him, all seemed to be in his
favour, but he soon saw that with her he would not 'gain his ends,' and
to turn his back on her he found, to his own bewilderment, beyond his
power. His blood was on fire directly if he merely thought of her; he
could easily have mastered his blood, but something else was taking
root in him, something he had never admitted, at which he had always
jeered, at which all his pride revolted. In his conversations with Anna
Sergyevna he expressed more strongly than ever his calm contempt for
everything idealistic; but when he was alone, with indignation he
recognised idealism in himself. Then he would set off to the forest and
walk with long strides about it, smashing the twigs that came in his
way, and cursing under his breath both her and himself; or he would get
into the hay-loft in the barn, and, obstinately closing his eyes, try
to force himself to sleep, in which, of course, he did not always
succeed. Suddenly his fancy would bring before him those chaste hands
twining one day about his neck, those proud lips responding to his
kisses, those intellectual eyes dwelling with tenderness--yes, with
tenderness--on his, and his head went round, and he forgot himself for
an instant, ti