insarov read elena’s note, and at once began to set his room to rights; asked his landlady to take away the medicine-glasses, took off his dressing-gown and put on his coat. his head was swimming and his heart throbbing from weakness and delight. his knees were shaking; he dropped on to the sofa, and began to look at his watch. ‘it’s now a quarter to twelve,’ he said to himself. ‘she can never come before twelve: i will think of something else for a quarter of an hour, or i shall break down altogether. before twelve she cannot possibly come.’
the door was opened, and in a light silk gown, all pale, all fresh, young and joyful, elena came in, and with a faint cry of delight she fell on his breast.
‘you are alive, you are mine,’ she repeated, embracing and stroking his head. he was almost swooning, breathless at such closeness, such caresses, such bliss.
she sat down near him, holding him fast, and began to gaze at him with that smiling, and caressing, and tender look, only to be seen shining in the eyes of a loving woman.
her face suddenly clouded over.
‘how thin you have grown, my poor dmitri,’ she said, passing her hand over his neck; ‘what a beard you have.’
‘and you have grown thin, my poor elena,’ he answered, catching her fingers with his lips.
she shook her curls gaily.
‘that’s nothing. you shall see how soon we’ll be strong again! the storm has blown over, just as it blew over and passed away that day when we met in the chapel. now we are going to live.’
he answered her with a smile only.
‘ah, what a time we have had, dmitri, what a cruel time! how can people outlive those they love? i knew beforehand what andrei petrovitch would say to me every day, i did really; my life seemed to ebb and flow with yours. welcome back, my dmitri!’
he did not know what to say to her. he was longing to throw himself at her feet.
‘another thing i observed,’ she went on, pushing back his hair —‘i made so many observations all this time in my leisure — when any one is very, very miserable, with what stupid attention he follows everything that’s going on about him! i really sometimes lost myself in gazing at a fly, and all the while such chill and terror in my heart! but that’s all past, all past, isn’t it? everything’s bright in the future, isn’t it?’
‘you are for me in the future,’ answered insarov, ‘so it is bright for me.’
‘and for me too! but do you remember, when i was here, not the last time — no, not the last time,’ she repeated with an involuntary shudder, ‘when we were talking, i spoke of death, i don’t know why; i never suspected then that it was keeping watch on us. but you are well now, aren’t you?’
‘i’m much better, i’m nearly well.’
‘you are well, you are not dead. oh, how happy i am!’
a short silence followed.
‘elena?’ said insarov.
‘well, my dearest?’
‘tell me, did it never occur to you that this illness was sent us as a punishment?’
elena looked seriously at him.
‘that idea did come into my head, dmitri. but i thought: what am i to be punished for? what duty have i transgressed, against whom have i sinned? perhaps my conscience is not like other people’s, but it was silent; or perhaps i am guilty towards you? i hinder you, i stop you.’
‘you don’t stop me, elena; we will go together.’
‘yes, dmitri, let us go together; i will follow you. . . . that is my duty. i love you. . . . i know no other duty.’
‘o elena!’ said insarov, ‘what chains every word of yours fastens on me!’
‘why talk of chains?’ she interposed. ‘we are free people, you and i. yes,’ she went on, looking musingly on the floor, while with one hand she still stroked his hair, ‘i experienced much lately of which i had never had any idea! if any one had told me beforehand that i, a young lady, well brought up, should go out from home alone on all sorts of made-up excuses, and to go where? to a young man’s lodgings — how indignant i should have been! and that has all come about, and i feel no indignation whatever. really!’ she added, and turned to insarov.
he looked at her with such an expression of adoration, that she softly dropped her hand from his hair over his eyes.
‘dmitri!’ she began again, ‘you don’t know of course, i saw you there in that dreadful bed, i saw you in the clutches of death, unconscious.’
‘you saw me?’
‘yes.’
he was silent for a little. ‘and bersenyev was here?’
she nodded.
insarov bowed down before her. ‘o elena!’ he whispered, ‘i don’t dare to look at you.’
‘why? andrei petrovitch is so good. i was not ashamed before him. and what have i to be ashamed of? i am ready to tell all the world that i am yours. . . . and andrei petrovitch i trust like a brother.’
‘he saved me!’ cried insarov. ‘he is the noblest, kindest of men!’
‘yes . .. and do you know i owe everything to him? do you know that it was he who first told me that you loved me? and if i could tell you everything. . . . yes, he is a noble man.’
insarov looked steadily at elena. ‘he is in love with you, isn’t he?’
elena dropped her eyes. ‘he did love me,’ she said in an undertone.
insarov pressed her hand warmly. ‘oh you russians,’ he said, ‘you have hearts of pure gold! and he, he has been waiting on me, he has not slept at night. and you, you, my angel. . . . no reproaches, no hesitations . . . and all this for me, for me ——’
‘yes, yes, all for you, because they love you, ah, dmitri! how strange it is! i think i have talked to you of it before, but it doesn’t matter, i like to repeat it, and you will like to hear it. when i saw you the first time ——’
‘why are there tears in your eyes?’ insarov interrupted her.
‘tears? are there?’ she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘oh, what a silly boy! he doesn’t know yet that people weep from happiness. i wanted to tell you: when i saw you the first time, i saw nothing special in you, really. i remember, shubin struck me much more at first, though i never loved him, and as for andrei petrovitch — oh, there was a moment when i thought: isn’t this he? and with you there was nothing of that sort; but afterwards — afterwards — you took my heart by storm!’
‘have pity on me,’ began insarov. he tried to get up, but dropped down on to the sofa again at once.
‘what’s the matter with you?’ inquired elena anxiously.
‘nothing. . . . i am still rather weak. i am not strong enough yet for such happiness.’
‘then sit quietly. don’t dare to move, don’t get excited,’ she added, threatening him with her finger. ‘and why have you left off your dressing-gown? it’s too soon to begin to be a dandy! sit down and i will tell you stories. listen and be quiet. to talk much is bad for you after your illness.’
she began to talk to him about shubin, about kurnatovsky, and what she had been doing for the last fortnight, of how war seemed, judging from the newspapers, inevitable, and so directly he was perfectly well again, he must, without losing a minute, make arrangements for them to start. all this she told him sitting beside him, leaning on his shoulder . . . .
he listened to her, listened, turning pale and red. sometimes he tried to stop her; suddenly he drew himself up.
‘elena,’ he said to her in a strange, hard voice ‘leave me, go away.’
‘what?’ she replied in bewilderment ‘you feel ill?’ she added quickly.
‘no . . . i’m all right . . . but, please, leave me now.’
‘i don’t understand you. you drive me away? . . what are you doing?’ she said suddenly; he had bent over from the sofa almost to the ground, and was pressing her feet to his lips. ‘don’t do that, dmitri. . . . dmitri ——’
he got up.
‘then leave me! you see, elena, when i was taken ill, i did not lose consciousness at first; i knew i was on the edge of the abyss; even in the fever, in delirium i knew, i felt vaguely that it was death coming to me, i took leave of life, of you, of everything; i gave up hope. . . . and this return to life so suddenly; this light after the darkness, you — you — near me, with me — your voice, your breath. . . . it’s more than i can stand! i feel i love you passionately, i hear you call yourself mine, i cannot answer for myself . . . you must go!’
‘dmitri,’ whispered elena, and she nestled her head on his shoulder. only now she understood him.
‘elena,’ he went on, ‘i love you, you know that; i am ready to give my life for you. . . . why have you come to me now, when i am weak, when i can’t control myself, when all my blood’s on fire . . . you are mine, you say . . . you love me ———’
‘dmitri,’ she repeated; she flushed all over, and pressed still closer to him.
‘elena, have pity on me; go away, i feel as if i should die. . . . i can’t stand these violent emotions . . . my whole soul yearns for you . . . think, death was almost parting us . . and now you are here, you are in my arms . . . elena ——’
she was trembling all over. ‘take me, then,’ she whispered scarcely above her breath.
