All this, as I supposed, was perfectly known to her; but she listened with the greatest delight, blushing, and sometimes even asking questions in a low voice. I spoke a long time, and toward the end less stupidly than I had expected. I told how afterward she had been my only strength; how deeply and dreadfully unhappy I was yesterday when I said to myself that all was lost, and that I had lost faith in her also. "I was just as unhappy," said she. "And it is true that at first I could not stammer out a word, but later I tried to correct everything." After a while we were both silent. In me there was a struggle between timidity and a wish to kiss her feet; at last, in the most monstrously awkward way possible, and worthy of the last of idiots, I asked her if she loved me even a little. She strove for a time to give me an answer, but, unable to bring herself to it, she rose and left the room. She returned quickly with an album in her hand; she sat again at my side and showed me a drawing, my own portrait. "I sketched this," said she, "from memory." "Is it possible?" "But there is something more," added she, putting her finger on the paper. Then only did I note that at the side near the edge of the paper, were the letters _j. v. a._, in a very small hand. "This is read in French," whispered Tola. "In French?" And in my boundless simplicity, I could not think what they meant till she began,-- "Je vous--?" And hiding her face in her hands, she bent so low that I saw the short hair on her neck, and her neck itself. Then I guessed at last and said with throbbing heart,-- "Now I may, I may--" She raised her face, smiling and radiant,-- "And you must," added she, blinking, and, as it were, commanding me for the future. At that moment they called us to lunch. At that lunch, I might have eaten knives and forks without knowing it. A man grows accustomed to nothing so easily as to happiness. All that had passed was simply a series of miracles, but two days later it seemed to me perfectly natural that Tola was my betrothed. I thought that it ought to be so, that she was mine; and for this reason solely, that no other man loved her as I did. * * * * * Finally, the news of my betrothal went about through the city, and I began to receive congratulations from my comrades. Tola and I drove out beyond the suburbs with her parents, on which occasion many persons saw us together. I remember that drive perfectly. Tola, in a sack trimmed with otter-skin, and a cap trimmed with the same fur, looked like a vision, for her transparent complexion seemed more delicate with the dark bronze color of the trimmings. All turned to look after us, and so admired was she that some of my acquaintances stood as if fixed to the pavement.