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And, as if he had got that mode of expression which he wanted, he continued to give out this long-drawn note, only interrupted by his laboured, hoarse breathing. At first the others could not conceive what had happened to him, but soon Sina and Dubova and Novikoff began to weep. Slowly and solemnly the priest resumed his chanting. His fat good-tempered face showed evident sympathy and emotion.
"I have drawn up a programme but perhaps it would bore you if I read it out?" said Schafroff, with a furtive glance at Dubova. "I propose to begin with 'The Origin of the Family' side by side with Darwin's works, and, in literature, we could take Tolstoi." "Of course, Tolstoi!" said Von Deitz, looking extremely pleased with himself as he proceeded to light a cigarette.
Yourii gave another frightened glance at his sister, and met her sad eyes. In confusion he turned to Schafroff, and said hastily: "Have you read Charles Bradlaugh?" "Yes, we read some of his works with Dubova, and Sina Karsavina. Most interesting." "Yes. Oh! have they come back?" "Yes." "Since when?" asked Yourii, hiding his emotion. "Since the day before yesterday."
Thus was the first lie spoken that converted all her frank, proud maidenhood to a memory. In its place there was now something false and sullied. While Dubova was dressing herself, Sina glanced furtively at her from time to time. Her friend seemed to her bright and pure, and she herself as repulsive as a crushed reptile.
I don't understand," interrupted Dubova in a tone of voice that might have been thought ironical. Goschienko blushed slightly. "I meant to say readings in which all take part. Thus, the aim of our association is for the development of individual opinion which shall lead to the formation in town of a league in sympathy with the social democratic party...."
"I think," he began in his dry, uninteresting voice, "I think that our programme should be divided into two parts. For the purpose of intellectual development two elements are undoubtedly necessary: the study of life from Its earliest stages, and the study of life as it actually is." "Schafroff's getting quite eloquent," cried Dubova.
He walked once more along the boulevard. Girlish voices called to him through the dusk. Sina Karsavina and the school-mistress Dubova were sitting on a bench. It was now getting dark, and their figures were hardly discernible. They wore dark dresses, were without hats, and carried books in their hands. Yourii hastened to join them. "Where have you been?" he asked. "At the library," replied Sina.
Soloveitchik jumped up as if to run out, but, recollecting himself, pretended to take a cigarette from the table. Goschienko noticed this, and, without replying to Dubova, said: "How fidgety you are, Soloveitchik!" Soloveitchik turned crimson and blinked his eyes ruefully. He felt vaguely conscious that his zeal did not deserve to be so severely rebuked. Then Novikoff noisily entered.
"Knowledge of the former can be gained by reading standard books of historical and scientific value, and knowledge of the latter, by belles lettres, which bring us face to face with life." "If you go on talking to us like this, we shall soon fall fast asleep." Dubova could not resist making this remark, and in her eyes there was a roguish twinkle.
Without speaking, her companion moved to make room for Yourii who would have preferred to sit next to Sina, but, being shy, he took a seat beside the ugly schoolteacher, Dubova. "Why do you look so utterly miserable?" asked Dubova, pursing up her thin, dry lips, as was her wont. "What makes you think that I am miserable? On the contrary I am in excellent spirits. Somewhat bored, perhaps."
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