Novikoff's heart beat faster. Within it, joy and grief seemed strangely
blended. His expression changed Somewhat, and he nervously fingered his
moustache.
"Well, what do you say? Shall we go?" repeated Sanine calmly, as if he
had decided to do something important. Novikoff felt that Sanine knew
all that was troubling him, and, though in a measure comforted, he Was
yet childishly abashed.
"Come along!" said Sanine gently, as taking hold of Novikoff's
shoulders he pushed him towards the door.
"Yes ... I ..." murmured the latter.
A sudden impulse to embrace Sanine almost overcame him, but he dared
not and could but glance at him with tearful eyes. It was dark in the
warm, fragrant garden, and the trunks of the trees formed Gothic arches
against the pale green of the sky.
A faint mist hovered above the parched surface of the lawn. It was as
if an unseen presence wandered along the silent walks and amid the
motionless trees, at whose approach the slumbering leaves and blossoms
softly trembled. The sunset still flamed in the west behind the river
which flowed in shining curves through the dark meadows. At the edge of
the stream sat Lida. Her graceful figure bending forward above the
water seemed like that of some mournful spirit in the dusk. The sense
of confidence inspired by the voice of her brother forsook her as
quickly as it had come, and once more shame and fear overwhelmed her.
She was obsessed by the thought that she had no right to happiness, nor
yet to live. She spent whole days in the garden, book in hand, unable
to look her mother in the face. A thousand times she said to herself
that her mother's anguish would be as nothing to what she herself was
now suffering, yet whenever she approached her parent her voice
faltered, and in her eyes there was a guilty look. Her blushes and
strange confusion of manner at last aroused her mother's suspicion, to
avoid whose searching glances and anxious questionings Lida preferred
to spend her days in solitude. Thus, on this evening she was seated by
the river, watching the sunset and brooding over her grief. Life, as it
seemed to her, was still incomprehensible. Her view of it was blurred
as by some hideous phantom. A series of books which she had read had
served to give her greater freedom of thought. As she believed, her
conduct was not only natural but almost worthy of praise. She had
brought harm to no one thereby, only providing herself and another with
sensual enjoyment. Without such enjoyment there would be no youth, and
life itself would be barren and desolate as a leafless tree in autumn.