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Elisaveta began to put things in order and to clean and to scrub. She moved about with agile grace. Stchemilov admired her graceful limbs; it was fascinating to watch the play of the muscles under the brown skin of her calves. He exclaimed in a clear, almost ecstatic voice: "How graceful you are, Elisaveta! Like a statue! I never saw such arms and legs." "I feel embarrassed, comrade Aleksei.
It is he who has just come out of the wood do you see? It is his feet that show white in the grass. Fling the door wide open and run as you are to meet him." Elisaveta saw Trirodov coming. Her heart began to beat with such pain and such delight. She walked away from the window. She waited. She heard his footsteps on the sand under the window.
And they suffered neither joy nor sadness at sheltering in their dark shade many young girls who were in love with the dream of liberation among them Elisaveta, who was also in love with this dream, and who created for it a temple of young passion and embroidered into this dream's design the image of a living man in a mysterious house.
Trirodov smiled and said: "The time of awakening is drawing nearer. Old age comes with its depression; and the empty, meaningless life wanders on towards unknown borders. You ask yourself, and it seems hopeless to find a worthy answer: 'Why do I live in this strange and chance form? Why have I chosen my present lot? Why have I done this?" "Well, who is at fault here?" asked Elisaveta.
Trirodov made an effort to be calm and was a little sharper than he wished to be. The women were searched in one of the bedrooms. A police-matron was brought for this purpose. She was a dirty, cunning sycophant. The contact of her coarse hands was repulsive. Elisaveta felt uncomfortably unclean after she had passed through the policewoman's paws. Elena shivered with fear and nausea.
Early next morning Elisaveta clearly recalled the course of this strange, vivid life the sad lofty road, the life of Queen Ortruda. She died from suffocation in a volcanic eruption, after a vain effort to help her people.
And in the struggle the rags of the two clumsily moving men ripped with a loud, splitting sound, their sudden nakedness rousing them even more. There was seductiveness for Elisaveta in the nakedness of these impetuous bodies. She taunted them: "The two of you can't manage one girl." She was strong and agile. It was difficult for them to conquer her.
"Dulcinea is loved," said Elisaveta, "but the fullness of life belongs to Aldonza becoming Dulcinea." "But does Aldonza want that?" asked Trirodov. "She wants it, but cannot realize it," said Elisaveta. "But we will help her, we will teach her." Trirodov smiled affectionately if sadly and said: "But he, like the eternal Don Juan, always seeks Dulcinea.
She felt intensely vexed by these sad words of weakness and of dejection, and she did not believe them. But Trirodov went on speaking, and his beautiful but hopelessly sad words sounded like a taunt to her: "There is so much labour and so little consolation. Life passes by like a dream a senseless, tormenting dream." "If only a radiant dream! If only a tempestuous dream!" exclaimed Elisaveta.
But Elena's eyes aroused in him a sweet agitation for a new love. His wearied heart thirsted, and suffered intensely from deceived hopes. Misha was strangely distraught. He flushed, and ran off more than usual with his fishing-rod to the river; there he wept. Now he impetuously embraced Elisaveta, now Trirodov. He felt ashamed and bitter.
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