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"Stay, wait a little. He's an old woman, but you know, that's all the better for you. Besides, he's a pathetic old woman. He doesn't deserve to be loved by a woman at all, but he deserves to be loved for his helplessness, and you must love him for his helplessness. You understand me, don't you? Do you understand me?" Dasha nodded her head affirmatively. "I knew you would.
But she had already stepped behind the screen. With flashing eyes she drew up a chair with her foot, and, sinking back in it, she shouted to Dasha: "Go away for a time! Stay in the other room. Why are you so inquisitive? And shut the door properly after you." For some time she gazed in silence with a sort of predatory look into his frightened face.
"Nothing on your soul, on your heart, or your conscience?" "Nothing," Dasha repeated, quietly, but with a sort of sullen firmness. "I knew there wasn't! Believe me, Darya, I shall never doubt you. Now sit still and listen. In front of me, on that chair. I want to see the whole of you. That's right. Listen, do you want to be married?"
As you like, so it shall be." "Then, may I ask, Varvara Petrovna, has Stepan Trofimovitch said anything yet?" "No, he hasn't said anything, he doesn't know... but he will speak directly." She jumped up at once and threw on a black shawl. Dasha flushed a little again, and watched her with questioning eyes. Varvara Petrovna turned suddenly to her with a face flaming with anger. "You're a fool!"
Dasha responded with a long, inquiring, but not greatly astonished look. "Stay, hold your tongue. In the first place there is a very great difference in age, but of course you know better than anyone what nonsense that is. You're a sensible girl, and there must be no mistakes in your life.
At last, a year before, he had returned to his native place among us and settled with an old aunt, whom he buried a month later. His sister Dasha, who had also been brought up by Varvara Petrovna, was a favourite of hers, and treated with respect and consideration in her house. He saw his sister rarely and was not on intimate terms with her.
I see it by your eyes," he added with a resentful and irritable smile. Dasha was frightened. "I've no question at all, and no doubt whatever; you'd better be quiet!" she cried in dismay, as though waving off his question. "Then you're convinced that I won't go to Fedka's little shop?" "Oh, God!" she cried, clasping her hands. "Why do you torture me like this?" "Oh, forgive me my stupid joke.
Yet I must once more testify that by the morning there was not the least suspicion of Dasha left in Varvara Petrovna's mind, though in reality there never had been any she had too much confidence in her. Besides, she could not admit the idea that "Nicolas" could be attracted by her Darya.
To walk over the snow-drifts, to feel cold, then to sit in a stifling hut, to teach children she disliked no, she would rather die! And to teach the peasants' children while Auntie Dasha made money out of the pot-houses and fined the peasants it was too great a farce!
And following with her eyes the doctor's well-built figure, she said, as though trying to soften the crudity of her decision: "He's a nice man. . . . We shall get through life somehow." She returned home. While she was dressing, Auntie Dasha came into the room, and said: "Alyona upset you, darling; I've sent her home to the village. Her mother's given her a good beating and has come here, crying."
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