‘But what, if it is a punishment,’ she
thought again; ’what, if we must now pay the
penalty of our guilt in full? My conscience was
silent, it is silent now, but is that a proof of innocence?
O God, can we be so guilty! Canst Thou who hast
created this night, this sky, wish to punish us for
having loved each other? If it be so, if he has
sinned, if I have sinned,’ she added with involuntary
force, ’grant that he, O God, grant that we
both, may die at least a noble, glorious death—there,
on the plains of his country, not here in this dark
room.
‘And the grief of my poor, lonely mother?’
she asked herself, and was bewildered, and could find
no answer to her question. Elena did not know
that every man’s happiness is built on the unhappiness
of another, that even his advantage, his comfort,
like a statue needs a pedestal, the disadvantage,
the discomfort of others.
‘Renditch!’ muttered Insarov in his sleep.
Elena went up to him on tiptoe, bent over him, and
wiped the perspiration from his face. He tossed
a little on his pillow, and was still again.
She went back again to the window, and again her thoughts
took possession of her. She began to argue with
herself, to assure herself that there was no reason
to be afraid. She even began to feel ashamed
of her weakness. ‘Is there any danger? isn’t
he better?’ she murmured. ’Why, if
we had not been at the theatre to-day, all this would
never have entered my head.’
At that instant she saw high above the water a white
sea-gull; some fisherman had scared it, it seemed,
for it flew noiselessly with uncertain course, as
though seeking a spot where it could alight.
‘Come, if it flies here,’ thought Elena,
‘it will be a good omen.’ . . . The
sea-gull flew round in a circle, folded its wings,
and, as though it had been shot, dropped with a plaintive
cry in the distance behind a dark ship. Elena
shuddered; then she was ashamed of having shuddered,
and, without undressing, she lay down on the bed beside
Insarov, who was breathing quickly and heavily.
Insarov waked late with a dull pain in his head, and
a feeling, as he expressed it, of disgusting weakness
all over. He got up however.
‘Renditch has not come?’ was his first
question.
‘Not yet,’ answered Elena, and she handed
him the latest number of the Osservatore Triestino,
in which there was much upon the war, the Slav Provinces,
and the Principalities. Insarov began reading
it; she busied herself in getting some coffee ready
for him. Some one knocked at the door.
‘Renditch,’ both thought at once, but
a voice said in Russian, ’May I come in?’
Elena and Insarov looked at each other in astonishment;
and without waiting for an answer, an elegantly dressed
young man entered the room, with a small sharp-featured
face, and bright little eyes. He was beaming
all over, as though he had just won a fortune or heard
a most delightful piece of news.
