Sanine

"How simple it really is!" she thought, looking round, yet seeing

nothing.

She walked faster now; and though hindered by her wide skirts, she

almost ran, it seemed to her as if her progress were intolerably slow.

"Here's a house, and yonder there's another one, with green shutters;

and then, an open space."

The river, the bridge, and what was to happen there--she had no clear

conception of this. It was as a cloud, a mist that covered all. But

such a state of mind only lasted until she reached the bridge.

As she leant over the parapet and saw the greenish, turbid water, her

confidence instantly forsook her. She was seized with fear and a wild

desire to live. Now her perception of living things came back to her.

She heard voices, and the twittering of sparrows; she saw the sunlight,

the daisies in the grass, and the little white dog, that evidently

looked upon her as his rightful mistress. It sat opposite to her, put

up a tiny paw, and beat the ground with its tail.

Lida gazed at it, longing to hug it convulsively, and large tears

filled her eyes. Infinite regret for her beautiful, ruined life

overcame her. Half fainting, she leant forward, over the edge of the

sun-baked parapet, and the sudden movement caused her to drop one of

her gloves into the water. In mute horror she watched it fall

noiselessly on the smooth surface of the water, making large circles.

She saw her pale yellow glove become darker and darker, and then

filling slowly with water, and turning over once, as in its death-

agony, sink down gradually with a spiral movement to the green depths

of the stream. Lida strained her eyes to mark its descent, but the

yellow spot grew ever smaller and more indistinct, and at last

disappeared. All that met her gaze was the smooth, dark surface of the

water.

"How did that happen, miss?" asked a female voice, close to her.

Lida started backwards, and saw a fat, snub-nosed peasant-woman who

looked at her with sympathetic curiosity.

Although such sympathy was only intended for the lost glove, to Lida it

seemed as if the good-natured, fat woman knew all, and pitied her. For

a moment she was minded to tell her the whole story, and thus gain some

relief, but she swiftly rejected the idea as foolish. She blushed, and

stammered out, "Oh, it's nothing!" as she reeled backwards from the

bridge.

"Here it's impossible! They would pull me out!" she thought.

She walked farther along the river-bank and followed a smooth foot-path

to the left between the river and a hedge. On either side were nettles

and daisies, sheep's parsley and ill-smelling garlic. Here it was calm

and peaceful as in some village church. Tall willows bent dreamily over

the stream; the steep, green banks were bathed in sunlight; tall

burdocks flourished amid the nettles, and prickly thistles became

entangled in the lace trimming of Lida's dress. One huge plant powdered

her with its white seeds.