Romashov pursued a narrow path amongst the trees. He neither understood nor knew what was awaiting him, but he felt in his heart a vaguely oppressive but, nevertheless, delicious anguish whilst waiting for something that was to happen. He stopped. Behind him he heard a slight rustling of branches, and, after that, the sound of quick steps and the _frou-frou_ of a silken skirt. Shurochka was approaching him with hurried steps. She resembled a dryad when, in her white dress, she glided softly forth between the dark trunks of the mighty oaks. Romashov went up and embraced her without uttering a word. Shurochka was breathing heavily and in gasps. Her warm breath often met Romashov's cheeks and lips, and he felt beneath his hand her heart's violent throbs. "Let's sit here," whispered Shurochka. She sank down on the grass, and began with both hands to arrange her hair at the back. Romashov laid himself at her feet, but, as the ground just there sloped downwards, he saw only the soft and delicate outlines of her neck and chin. Suddenly she said to him in a low, trembling voice-- "Romochka, are you happy?" "Yes--happy," he answered. Then, after reviewing in his mind, for an instant, all the events of that day, he repeated fervently: "Oh, yes--so happy, but tell me why you are to-day so, so?..." "So? What do you mean?" She bent lower towards him, gazed into his eyes, and all her lovely countenance was for once visible to Romashov. "Wonderful, divine Shurochka, you have never been so beautiful as now. There is something about you that sings and shines--something new and mysterious which I cannot understand. But, Alexandra Petrovna, don't be angry now at the question. Are you not afraid that some one may come?" She smiled without speaking, and that soft, low, caressing laugh aroused in Romashov's heart a tremor of ineffable bliss. "My dearest Romochka--my good, faint-hearted, simple, timorous Romochka--have I not already told you that this day is ours? Think only of that, Romochka. Do you know why I am so brave and reckless to-day? No, you do not know the reason. Well, it's because I am in love with you to-day--nothing else. No, no--don't, please, get any false notions into your head. To-morrow it will have passed." Romashov tried to take her in his arms. "Alexandra Petrovna--Shurochka--Sascha,"[18] he moaned beseechingly. "Don't call me Shurochka--do you hear? I don't like it. Anything but that. By the way," she stopped abruptly as if considering something, "what a charming name you have--Georgi. It's much prettier than Yuri--oh, much, much, much prettier. Georgi," she pronounced the name slowly with an accent on each syllable as though it afforded her delight to listen to the sound of every letter in the word. "Yes, there is a proud ring about that name." "Oh, my beloved," Romashov exclaimed, interrupting her with passionate fervour.