“A patient,” repeated Lialia mechanically. She said no more, but gazed at the stars. She was not vexed that Riasantzeff had not come. On the contrary, she wished to be alone, so that, undisturbed by his presence, she might give herself up to delicious meditation. To her, the sentiment that filled her youthful being was strange and sweet and tender. It was the consciousness of a climax, desired, inevitable, and yet disturbing, which should close the page of her past life and commence that of her new one. So new, indeed, that Lialia was to become an entirely different being. To Yourii it was strange that his merry, laughing sister should have become so quiet and pensive. Depressed and irritable himself, everything, Lialia, the dark garden the distant starlit sky seemed to him sad and cold. He did not perceive that this dreamy mood concealed not sorrow, but the very essence and fulness of life. In the wide heaven surged forces immeasurable and unknown; the dim garden drew forth vital sap from the earth; and in Lialia’s heart there was a joy so full, so complete, that she feared lest any movement, any impression should break the spell. Radiant as the starry heaven, mysterious as the dark garden, harmonies of love and yearning vibrated within her soul. “Tell me, Lialia, do you love Anatole Pavlovitch very much?” asked Yourii, gently, as if he feared to rouse her. “How can you ask?” she thought, but, recollecting herself, she nestled closer to her brother, grateful to him for not speaking of anything else but of her life’s one interest—the man she adored. “Yes, very much,” she replied, so softly that Yourii guessed rather than heard what she said, striving to restrain her tears of joy. Yet Yourii thought that he could detect a certain note of sadness in her voice, and his pity for her, as his hatred of Riasantzeff, increased. “Why?” he asked, feeling amazed at such a question. Lialia looked up in astonishment, and laughed gently. “You silly boy! Why, indeed! Because … Well, have you never been in love yourself? He’s so good, so honest and upright …” “So good-looking, and strong,” she would have added, but she only blushed and said nothing. “Do you know him well?” asked Yourii. “I ought not to have asked that,” he thought, inwardly vexed, “for, of course she thinks that he is the best man in the whole world.” “Anatole tells me everything,” replied Lialia timidly, yet triumphantly. Yourii smiled, and, aware now that there was no going back, retorted, “Are you quite sure?” “Of course I am; why should I not be?” Lialia’s voice trembled. “Oh! nothing. I merely asked,” said Yourii, somewhat confused. Lialia was silent. He could not guess what was passing through her mind. “Perhaps you know something about him?” she said suddenly. There was a suggestion of pain in her voice, which puzzled Yourii. “Oh! no,” he said, “not at all. What should I know about Anatole Pavlovitch?”