As he stammered out these words he felt all the while that he ought to
have said something very different and that his own emotions should
have been different also. Before he had got the words out he was
certain that the answer would be "no"; and at the same time he had an
impression that something utterly silly and ridiculous was about to
occur.
Lida asked mechanically, "Whose wife?" Then suddenly, she blushed
deeply, and rose, as if intending to speak. But she said nothing and
turned aside in confusion. The moonlight fell full on her features.
"I--love you!" stammered Novikoff.
For him, the moon no longer shone; the evening air seemed stifling, the
earth, he thought, would open beneath his feet.
"I don't know how to make speeches--but--no matter, I love you very
much!"
("Why, very much?" he thought to himself, "as if I were alluding to
ice-cream.") Lida played nervously with a little leaf that had fluttered down into
her hands. What she had just heard embarrassed her, being both
unexpected and futile; besides, it created a novel feeling of
disagreeable restraint between herself and Novikoff whom from her
childhood she had always looked upon as a relative, and whom she liked.
"I really don't know what to say! I had never thought about it."
Novikoff felt a dull pain at his heart, as if it would stop beating.
Very pale, he rose and seized his cap.
"Good-bye," he said, not hearing the sound of his own voice. His
quivering lips were twisted into a meaningless smile.
"Are you going? Good-bye!" said Lida, laughing nervously and proffering
her hand.
Novikoff grasped it hastily, and without putting on his cap strode out
across the grass, into the garden. In the shade he stood still and
gripped his head with both hands.
"My God! I am doomed to such luck as this! Shoot myself? No, that's all
nonsense! Shoot myself, eh?" Wild, incoherent thoughts flashed through
his brain. He felt that he was the most wretched and humiliated and
ridiculous of mortals.
Sanine at first wished to call out to him, but checking the impulse, he
merely smiled. To him it was grotesque that Novikoff should tear his
hair and almost weep because a woman whose body he desired would not
surrender herself to him. At the same time he was rather glad that his
pretty sister did not care for Novikoff.
For some moments Lida remained motionless in the same place, and
Sanine's curious gaze was riveted on her white silhouette in the
moonlight. Sarudine now came from the lighted drawing-room on to the
veranda. Sanine distinctly heard the faint jingling of his-spurs. In
the drawing-room Tanaroff was playing an old-fashioned, mournful waltz
whose languorous cadences floated on the air. Approaching Lida,
Sarudine gently and deftly placed his arm round her waist. Sanine could
perceive that both figures became merged into one that swayed in the
misty light.