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He had learnt what suffering was during those last weeks. But the most silent of us all that evening was Markovitch. He sat huddled over his food and never said a word. If he looked up at all he glowered, and so soon as he had finished eating he returned to his workshop, closing the door behind him. I caught Semyonov looking at him with a pleasant, speculative smile....
I cursed the Isvostchick, but wherever he went this slow endless stream seemed to impede our way. Poor Nina! Such a baby! What was it that had driven her to this? She did not love the man, and she knew quite well that she did not. No, it was an act of defiance. But defiance to whom to Vera? to Lawrence?... and what had Semyonov said to her?
I've never known anything so awful. And Semyonov of all people! "It was like that man in Wuthering Heights. What's his name? Heathcliffe! I always thought that was a bit of an exaggeration when he dashed his head against a tree and all that. But, by Jove, you never know!... Now, Durward, you've got to tell me. You've known Semyonov for years. You can explain.
Finally, to end this business, if ever a man were affected to the heart by the loss of a friend or a lover, Semyonov was that man. He was a man too strong in himself and too contemptuous of weakness to show to all the world his hurt. I myself might have seen nothing had I not always before me the memory of that vision of his face between the trees. But from that I had proceeded
"What I mean " said Trenchard, blushing and stammering. "What ... that is " "I agree with Mr.," suddenly said Nikitin, who had been dreamily watching the blue forest. "War does bring out the best in the human character always." Semyonov turned smilingly to him. "Yes, Vladimir Stepanovitch, we know your illusions. Forgive me for insisting that they are illusions.
The vision of her poor little tired face, her "rather dirty white dress," her "grown-up" hair, her timidity and her loneliness, never left him for a moment. All the time that I thought he was occupied only with the problem of Markovitch and Semyonov, he was much more deeply occupied with Nina. So unnaturally secretive can young men be! At last he decided on a plan.
I believe that that succession of days in the forest of S , the experience of Nikitin, Semyonov, Andrey Vassilievitch, Trenchard and myself might have occurred to any one, must have occurred to many other persons, but from the cool safe foundation on which now I stand it cannot but seem exceptional, even exaggerated. Exaggerated, in very truth, I know that it is not.
I remember indeed that early on that afternoon I felt the drama of the whole affair so heavily that I saw in every soldier who passed me a messenger of fate. They called me to a meal. Eat! Now! How absurd it seemed! Semyonov watched me cynically: "Eat and then sleep," he said, "or you'll be no use to any one." Afterwards I went back to the kitchen and slept. That sleep was the end of my melodrama.
I knew, quite clearly, as I lay on my back in the cart, that the fight against Semyonov and the fight against ... was mingled together, depended for their issue one upon the other that the dead men in the forest had no merely accidental connexion with Marie Ivanovna's safety and Semyonov's scornful piracies.
I asked. "Nina? She never said anything either. At the end she went up to Semyonov and took his hand and said, 'I'm so glad you're coming, Uncle Alexei, and looked at Vera. Oh! they're all as queer as they can be, I tell you!" "What happened next?" I asked eagerly. "Everything's happened and nothing's happened," he replied. "Nina's run away. Of course you know that.
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