She drooped her head, and ceased speaking in confusion.
Kister was in a sort of terror. ‘It can’t
be!’ he kept repeating to himself.
‘Marya Sergievna!’ he began at last.
Masha lifted her head, and turned upon him eyes heavy
with unshed tears.
‘You don’t guess of whom I am speaking?’
she asked.
Scarcely daring to breathe, Kister held out his hand.
Masha at once clutched it warmly.
‘You are my friend as before, aren’t you?...
Why don’t you answer?’
‘I am your friend, you know that,’ he
murmured.
’And you are not hard on me? You forgive
me?... You understand me? You’re not
laughing at a girl who made an appointment only yesterday
with one man, and to-day is talking to another, as
I am talking to you.... You’re not laughing
at me, are you?...’ Masha’s face glowed
crimson, she clung with both hands to Kister’s
hand....
‘Laugh at you,’ answered Kister:
’I... I... why, I love you... I love
you,’ he cried.
Masha hid her face.
‘Surely you’ve long known that I love
you, Marya Sergievna?’
Three weeks after this interview, Kister was sitting
alone in his room, writing the following letter to
his mother:—
Dearest Mother!—I make haste to share my
great happiness with you; I am going to get married.
This news will probably only surprise you from my
not having, in my previous letters, even hinted at
so important a change in my life—and you
know that I am used to sharing all my feelings, my
joys and my sorrows, with you. My reasons for
silence are not easy to explain to you. To begin
with, I did not know till lately that I was loved;
and on my own side too, it is only lately that I have
realised myself all the strength of my own feeling.
In one of my first letters from here, I wrote to you
of our neighbours, the Perekatovs; I am engaged to
their only daughter, Marya. I am thoroughly convinced
that we shall both be happy. My feeling for her
is not a fleeting passion, but a deep and genuine
emotion, in which friendship is mingled with love.
Her bright, gentle disposition is in perfect harmony
with my tastes. She is well-educated, clever,
plays the piano splendidly.... If you could only
see her! I enclose her portrait sketched by me.
I need hardly say she is a hundred times better-looking
than her portrait. Masha loves you already, like
a daughter, and is eagerly looking forward to seeing
you. I mean to retire, to settle in the country,
and to go in for farming. Mr. Perekatov has a
property of four hundred serfs in excellent condition.
You see that even from the material point of view,
you cannot but approve of my plans. I will get
leave and come to Moscow and to you. Expect me
in a fortnight, not later. My own dearest mother,
how happy I am!... Kiss me...’ and so on.
Kister folded and sealed the letter, got up, went
to the window, lighted a pipe, thought a little, and
returned to the table. He took out a small sheet
of notepaper, carefully dipped his pen into the ink,
but for a long while he did not begin to write, knitted
his brows, lifted his eyes to the ceiling, bit the
end of his pen.... At last he made up his mind,
and in the course of a quarter of an hour he had composed
the following:
