She quickly closed the window, and I thought I saw her embrace the old
German. Gaguine offered me the flower in silence. Without saying a word
I put it in my pocket, and returning to the place where they cross the
river, I passed over to the other side. I recollect walking towards my
house with a singularly sad heart, though thinking of nothing, when a
perfume well known to me, but rare enough in Germany, attracted my
attention. I stopped, and saw near the road a plot of ground sown with
hemp. The perfume that this plant of the steppes gave out suddenly
transported me to Russia, and brought forth in my soul a passionate
enthusiasm towards my country; I conceived the ardent desire of
breathing my native air, and feeling again under my feet the soil of my
fatherland. "What am I doing here?" I exclaimed; "What interest have I
in wandering in a strange land, among people who are nothing to me?" and
the oppression that filled my heart soon gave way to an emotion violent
and full of bitterness.
I re-entered my house in a state of mind the opposite to that of the
night before; I felt almost vexed, and was long in calming myself. I
felt a deep vexation, for which I could not account. I ended by sitting
down, and recalling my faithless widow (she came to my recollection
officially every evening); I took one of her letters, but did not open
it, for my thoughts took wing to the other side of the river. I began to
dream, and Annouchka was the subject. I recalled that in the course of
our conversation; Gaguine gave me to understand that certain
circumstances prevented him from returning to Russia.--"Who knows,
indeed, if she is his sister," I asked myself aloud.
I laid down and tried to sleep, but an hour after I was still leaning on
my elbow, and thinking again of that capricious little girl with a
forced laugh. She has the figure of _La Galathée_ of Raphael of the
Farnese palace, I murmured.--It is well that--and she is not his sister.
During this time the widow's letter reposed quietly upon the floor,
lighted up by a pale ray of the moon.
V.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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