"No, what is gone never comes again, there can be no turning back ..." his voice softened as he spoke. "It has already come again," said I, laying my hand on his shoulder. He took the hand in his, and pressed it. "No, I was not telling the truth, when I pretended not to regret the past; no, I do regret your past love; I bitterly mourn over it,--this love, which can no longer exist. Who is to blame? I do not know. Love there may even yet be, but not the same; its place is still there, but darkened and desolated; it is without savor and without strength; the remembrance has not vanished, nor the gratitude, but...." "Do not speak so," I interrupted. "Let it come to life again, let it be what it was.... Might that be?" I asked, looking into his face. His eyes were serene, quiet, and met mine without their old deep look. Even as I asked the question I felt the answer, felt that my wish was no longer possible to realize. He smiled; it seemed to me an old man's smile, gentle and full of peace. "How young you still are, and how old I am already!" he said. "Why delude ourselves?" he added, still with the same smile. I remained near him, silent, and feeling my soul grow more and more tranquil. "Do not let us try to repeat life," he went on, "nor to lie to ourselves. But it is something, to have no longer, God willing, either disquiet or distress. We have nothing to seek for. We have already found, already shared, happiness enough. All we have to do now is to open the way,--you see to whom...." he said, pointing out little Vania, in his nurse's arms, at the terrace door. "That is necessary, dear love," he concluded, bending over me and dropping a kiss on my hair. It was no longer a lover, it was an old friend who gave the caress. The perfumed freshness of night was rising, sweeter and stronger, from the garden; the few sounds audible were solemn and far off, and soon gave way to deep tranquillity; one by one the stars shone out. I looked at him, and all at once I became conscious of infinite relief in my soul; it was as if a moral nerve, whose sensitiveness had caused me keen suffering had suddenly been removed. Quietly and clearly I comprehended that the dominant sentiment of this phase of my existence was irrevocably gone, as was the phase itself, and that not only was its return impossible, but that it would be to me full of unendurable pain. There had been enough of this time; and had it indeed been so good,--this time, which to me had seemed to enclose such joys? And already it had lasted so long, so long! "But tea is waiting," he said, gently; and we went together to the drawing-room.