rt
as he had been twenty years ago? Was it not youth to feel as he
felt now, when coming from the other side to the edge of the wood
he saw in the glowing light of the slanting sunbeams the gracious
figure of Varenka in her yellow gown with her basket, walking
lightly by the trunk of an old birch tree, and when this
impression of the sight of Varenka blended so harmoniously with
the beauty of the view, of the yellow oatfield lying bathed in
the slanting sunshine, and beyond it the distant ancient forest
flecked with yellow and melting into the blue of the distance?
His heart throbbed joyously. A softened feeling came over him.
He felt that he had made up his mind. Varenka, who had just
crouched down to pick a mushroom, rose with a supple movement and
looked round. Flinging away the cigar, Sergey Ivanovitch
advanced with resolute steps towards her.

Chapter 5

"Varvara Andreevna, when I was very young, I set before myself
the ideal of the woman I loved and should be happy to call my
wife. I have lived through a long life, and now for the first
time I have met what I sought--in you. I love you, and offer you
my hand."

Sergey Ivanovitch was saying this to himself while he was ten
paces from Varvara. Kneeling down, with her hands over the
mushrooms to guard them from Grisha, she was calling little
Masha.

"Come here, little ones! There are so many!" she was saying in
her sweet, deep voice.

Seeing Sergey Ivanovitch approaching, she did not get up and did
not change her position, but everything told him that she felt
his presence and was glad of it.

"Well, did you find some?" she asked from under the white
kerchief, turning her handsome, gently smiling face to him.

"Not one," said Sergey Ivanovitch. "Did you?"

She did not answer, busy with the children who thronged about
her.

"That one too, near the twig," she pointed out to little Masha a
little fungus, split in half across its rosy cap by the dry grass
from under which it thrust itself. Varenka got up while Masha
picked the fungus, breaking it into two white halves. "This
brings back my childhood," she added, moving apart from the
children beside Sergey Ivanovitch.

They walked on for some steps in silence. Varenka saw that he
wanted to speak; she guessed of what, and felt faint with joy and
panic. They had walked so far away that no one could hear them
now, but still he did not begin to speak. It would have been
better for Varenka