“A tall, graceful figure, well set off by her picturesque peasant dress, tiny hands, delicate and white, a clear, fresh complexion, deep violet eyes with long black lashes, wavy auburn hair, and small white teeth just visible between a pair of lips that seemed made alone for kisses, while her features had that sweet, half-sad expression that is the birth-gift of every Russian woman, rich or poor. “I rose, and advancing, greeted her. She blushed deeply and appeared confused. Very soon, however, we were chatting in friendly manner, and she told me her name was Natiónka, and that she was the daughter of old Savischnoff, one of my father’s serfs. “After an hour’s pleasant gossip I walked with her to her home, a small, lonely cottage in the heart of the forest, five versts along the road to Seniki. Had she been of noble birth she could not have treated me with more queenly reserve, and before I bade her good-bye we had arranged to meet on the morrow. “From that time I waited for her daily in a secluded part of the forest, into which no one ever penetrated. As you may well guess I fell violently in love with her, even though she was but the daughter of a poor wood-cutter. We kept our secret, meeting clandestinely with only the chattering birds in the trees above as witnesses. As a token of affection I had given her a small heart-shaped locket of blue malachite set round with diamonds and containing my miniature. This she wore concealed in the breast of her dress. “So four months passed—bright months, sunny months. I adored her with all my being, and she, in return, loved me passionately.” Vassilii tossed his dead cigarette away, and passed his hand again wearily over his eyes, brushing away what appeared suspiciously like a tear. Sighing heavily, as if the recollection of Natiónka stirred sad and painful memories, he murmured an apology. Then he went on, talking to himself rather than to me. “I summoned courage at last to go to old Savischnoff. His _isba_ was poorly furnished but clean, and the _ikon_ was over the door—always a good sign. When we were alone I told him how I loved his daughter, and the effect of the announcement was almost magical. “‘What! You love her? You love Natiónka?’ the old man gasped in a fierce whisper. ‘No, no, you must not,’ he urged. ‘What would the _barin_ say? If he knew, he would kill my child.’ “I laughed at his consternation. ‘Have no fear,’ I said. ‘I shall marry her, and as my wife she will be under my protection.’ “‘No. A thousand times, no!’ he declared. ‘Think! It would bring ruin and death upon us.’ “‘Bah! Leave it all to me,’ I said. I was young, madly impetuous, and Natiónka was my idol. Little did I imagine that the drama would have such a _dénouement_.