"Since we are in the chapter of confidences," I replied, "allow me one question. Is it true that no one has pleased her up to the present time? Yet at Petersburg she must have seen a great many young people?" "They were all to the highest degree displeasing to her. You see, Annouchka was seeking for a hero, an extraordinary man, or some handsome shepherd living in a mountain cave. But it is time for me to stop; I detain you," added he, rising. "No," I said to him, "let us rather go to your house. I don't wish to go into the house." "And your work?" he asked of me. I did not reply to him. Gaguine kindly smiled, and we returned to L. In again seeing the vineyard and the white house on the mountain, I felt a peculiarly sweet emotion that penetrated my soul; it was as if balm had been poured into my heart. Gaguine's story relieved me greatly. IX. Annouchka came to meet us at the threshold of the door. I was expecting a fresh burst of laughter, but she approached us pale, silent, her eyes cast down. "I have brought him back," said Gaguine, "and it is well to add that he wished to come himself." She looked at me with a questioning air. I put my hand out to her this time, and pressed with fervor her cold and trembling fingers. I felt a profound pity for her. I understood, indeed, the sides of her character which had appeared inexplicable to me. That agitation one saw in her, that desire of putting herself forward, joined with the fear of appearing ridiculous, was quite clear to me now. A weighty secret oppressed her constantly, her inexperienced _amour propre_ came forward and receded incessantly, but her whole being sought the truth. I understood what attracted me towards this strange young girl: it was not only the half-savage charm bestowed upon her lovely and graceful young figure, it was also her soul that captivated me. Gaguine began to rummage over his portfolios; I proposed to Annouchka to accompany me into the vineyard. She immediately consented, with a gay and almost submissive air. We went half way down the mountain, and seated ourselves upon a stone. "And you were not dull without us?" she asked me. "You were then dull without me?" I replied to her. Annouchka looked at me slyly. "Yes!" she said, and almost immediately began,-- "The mountains must be very beautiful. They are high, higher than the clouds. Tell me what you saw. You have already told my brother, but I have not heard." "But you did not care to hear, since you went out." "I went out because,--you see very well that I don't go out now," added she in a tender tone; "but this morning you were angry." "I was angry?" "Yes!" "Come now, why should I have been?" "I don't know; but you were angry, and went away in the same mood. I was very sorry to see you go away so, and I am glad to see you come back." "And I am very glad to be back," I answered.