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I didn't guess right that time and did the wrong thing. I didn't think that you'd love him. Don't be angry at me and don't despise me." "Enough, Aleksei," said Elisaveta tenderly. "You know how I respect you. We are friends. Give me your hand." Stchemilov gave her hand a tight, comradely pressure, then bent down and kissed it.
Elisaveta espied the high turrets rising above the white wall and recalled Trirodov's neither young nor handsome face: she became suffused with a sweet passion, as with a rich wine but it was an emotion not free from pain. Before they realized it they were quite close to the white wall, near the ponderous closed gates. The small gate was open.
Stchemilov's house, a cabin in the middle of a vegetable garden, stood on a steep bank of the river, just along the edge of the town. No one had yet arrived at the house. Elisaveta picked up a periodical which lay on the table and asked: "Tell me, comrade, how do you like these verses?" Stchemilov looked at the periodical, open at a page which contained Trirodov's verses.
It was a provoking conversation. Even the imperturbable Miss Harrison rose from her place rather sooner than usual. Rameyev went to his own room to get his hour's nap. The young people went into the garden. Misha and Elena ran downhill to the river. They had a keen desire to run one after the other and to laugh. "Elisaveta!" called out Piotr. His voice trembled nervously. Elisaveta paused.
The breeze blew at that moment, there was a rustle in the foliage and a little bird suddenly began to chirp away somewhere and it seemed as if the depressed garden were glad because of these lively, resonant, quickly uttered words. "Who?" asked Elena. The insincerity of her question made her flush quite suddenly. She knew very well whom Elisaveta meant.
If people could but grasp this fact human knowledge would take an unprecedented step forward. But we are afraid to venture." And coarse life already hovered near them behind their backs, and was about to intrude upon them. Elisaveta gave a sudden faint outcry at the unexpectedness of an unseemly apparition.
They did not sleep long, and when both awakened quite suddenly, everything that had just happened seemed like a dream. They made haste. "We must hurry home," said Elena in an anxious voice. They ran quickly. The door of the underground passage was open. Just outside the door, in the road, stood a cart. Kirsha sat in it and held the reins. The sisters seated themselves. Elisaveta took the reins.
To the perplexities of the past, not yet thrown off his shoulders, and to those of the present begun with a strange, as yet unmeasured influence, were to be added the perplexities of the future, of a new and unexpected bond. And was not love in itself a means for realizing one's dreams? Trirodov made effort to crush this new love in himself, and to forget Elisaveta.
Not a word was said about the sisters' visit to Trirodov. "We've heard a great deal about you," began Rameyev, "I'm glad to know you." Trirodov smiled, and his smile seemed slightly derisive. Elisaveta remarked: "I suppose you think our being glad to see you merely a polite phrase." There was sharpness in her voice. Elisaveta, realizing this, suddenly flushed.
"Our poet and doctor of chemistry has fine friends, I must say!" Elisaveta and Elena were walking again on a path close to the road that connected the Prosianiya Meadows and the Rameyev estate. The sisters were glad that it was so still and deserted around them and that the turmoil of life seemed so remote from them.
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