s way, bright-green, tangled, juicy belts of rye were
sprouting here and there into stalk. Not a motion was perceptible in the
air, only a sweet freshness, and everything looked extraordinarily clear
and bright. Near the road I could see a little brown path winding its
way among the dark-green, quarter-grown stems of rye, and somehow that
path reminded me vividly of our village, and somehow (through some
connection of thought) the idea of that village reminded me vividly of
Sonetchka, and so of the fact that I was in love with her.

Notwithstanding my fondness for Dimitri and the pleasure which his
frankness had afforded me, I now felt as though I desired to hear no
more about his feelings and intentions with regard to Lubov Sergievna,
but to talk unstintedly about my own love for Sonetchka, who seemed to
me an object of affection of a far higher order. Yet for some reason
or another I could not make up my mind to tell him straight out how
splendid it would seem when I had married Sonetchka and we were living
in the country--of how we should have little children who would crawl
about the floor and call me Papa, and of how delighted I should be when
he, Dimitri, brought his wife, Lubov Sergievna, to see us, wearing an
expensive gown. Accordingly, instead of saying all that, I pointed to
the setting sun, and merely remarked: "Look, Dimitri! How splendid!"

To this, however, Dimitri made no reply, since he was evidently
dissatisfied at my answering his confession (which it had cost him much
to make) by directing his attention to natural objects (to which he
was, in general, indifferent). Upon him Nature had an effect altogether
different to what she had upon myself, for she affected him rather by
her industry than by her beauty--he loved her rather with his intellect
than with his senses.

"I am absolutely happy," I went on, without noticing that he was
altogether taken up with his own thoughts and oblivious of anything that
I might be saying. "You will remember how told you about a girl with
whom I used to be in love when was a little boy? Well, I saw her
again only this morning, and am now infatuated with her." Then I told
him--despite his continued expression of indifference--about my love,
and about all my plans for my future connubial happiness. Strangely
enough, no sooner had I related in detail the whole strength of my
feelings than I instantly became conscious of its diminution.

The rain overtook us just as we