t God had
not vouchsafed her the bliss of being the wife of one of them. She
muttered, 'Ah, how splendid it is!' The childish gladness on her
face, the tears, the gentle smile, the soft hair, which had escaped
from under the kerchief, and the kerchief itself thrown carelessly
over her head, in the light of the street lamp reminded me of the
old Kisotchka whom one had wanted to stroke like a kitten.

"I could not restrain myself, and began stroking her hair, her
shoulders, and her hands.

"'Kisotchka, what do you want?' I muttered. 'I'll go to the ends
of the earth with you if you like! I will take you out of this hole
and give you happiness. I love you. . . . Let us go, my sweet? Yes?
Will you?'

"Kisotchka's face was flooded with bewilderment. She stepped back
from the street lamp and, completely overwhelmed, gazed at me with
wide-open eyes. I gripped her by the arm, began showering kisses
on her face, her neck, her shoulders, and went on making vows and
promises. In love affairs vows and promises are almost a physiological
necessity. There's no getting on without them. Sometimes you know
you are lying and that promises are not necessary, but still you
vow and protest. Kisotchka, utterly overwhelmed, kept staggering
back and gazing at me with round eyes.

"'Please don't! Please don't!' she muttered, holding me off with
her hands.

"I clasped her tightly in my arms. All at once she broke into
hysterical tears. And her face had the same senseless blank expression
that I had seen in the summer-house when I lighted the matches.
Without asking her consent, preventing her from speaking, I dragged
her forcibly towards my hotel. She seemed almost swooning and did
not walk, but I took her under the arms and almost carried her. . . .
I remember, as we were going up the stairs, some man with a red
band in his cap looked wonderingly at me and bowed to Kisotchka. . . ."

Ananvev flushed crimson and paused. He walked up and down near the
table in silence, scratched the back of his head with an air of
vexation, and several times shrugged his shoulders and twitched his
shoulder-blades, while a shiver ran down his huge back. The memory
was painful and made him ashamed, and he was struggling with himself.

"It's horrible!" he said, draining a glass of wine and shaking his
head. "I am told that in every introductory lecture on women's
diseases the medical students are admonished to remember that each
one of them has a mother, a