Sanin, without knowing very well what he was doing,
lifted the hand to his lips. Maria Nikolaevna
softly took it, and was suddenly still, and did not
speak again till the carriage stopped.
She began getting out.... What was it? Sanin’s
fancy? or did he really feel on his cheek a swift
burning kiss?
‘Till to-morrow!’ whispered Maria Nikolaevna
on the steps, in the light of the four tapers of a
candelabrum, held up on her appearance by the gold-laced
door-keeper. She kept her eyes cast down.
’Till to-morrow!’
When he got back to his room, Sanin found on the table
a letter from Gemma. He felt a momentary dismay,
and at once made haste to rejoice over it to disguise
his dismay from himself. It consisted of a few
lines. She was delighted at the ‘successful
opening of negotiations,’ advised him to be
patient, and added that all at home were well, and
were already rejoicing at the prospect of seeing him
back again. Sanin felt the letter rather stiff,
he took pen and paper, however ... and threw it all
aside again. ’Why write? I shall be
back myself to-morrow ... it’s high time!’
He went to bed immediately, and tried to get to sleep
as quickly as possible. If he had stayed up and
remained on his legs, he would certainly have begun
thinking about Gemma, and he was for some reason ...
ashamed to think of her. His conscience was stirring
within him. But he consoled himself with the
reflection that to-morrow it would all be over for
ever, and he would take leave for good of this feather-brained
lady, and would forget all this rotten idiocy!...
Weak people in their mental colloquies, eagerly make
use of strong expressions.
Et puis ... cela ne tire pas a consequence!
Such were Sanin’s thoughts, as he went to bed;
but what he thought next morning when Maria Nikolaevna
knocked impatiently at his door with the coral handle
of her riding-whip, when he saw her in the doorway,
with the train of a dark-blue riding habit over her
arm, with a man’s small hat on her thickly coiled
curls, with a veil thrown back over her shoulder,
with a smile of invitation on her lips, in her eyes,
over all her face—what he thought then—history
does not record.
‘Well? are you ready?’ rang out a joyous
voice.
Sanin buttoned his coat, and took his hat in silence.
Maria Nikolaevna flung him a bright look, nodded to
him, and ran swiftly down the staircase. And
he ran after her.
The horses were already waiting in the street at the
steps. There were three of them, a golden chestnut
thorough-bred mare, with a thin-lipped mouth, that
showed the teeth, with black prominent eyes, and legs
like a stag’s, rather thin but beautifully shaped,
and full of fire and spirit, for Maria Nikolaevna;
a big, powerful, rather thick-set horse, raven black
all over, for Sanin; the third horse was destined
