"Most romantic," said Rona, copying the coldness of his tone. "I understand that the Governor's daughter is charming, so that, no doubt, relieved the dullness of your captivity. The anxiety of your brother and--and your other friends was a small matter." He regarded her with some surprise before he replied. "When I fell in with the Governor's plan, there was, to the best of my belief, no human creature but Vronsky who would feel the least concern about me. I had not then realized that I was supposed to stand between my brother and--his happiness." He paused a moment. "Perhaps, to avoid returning to an awkward subject, I had better say at once that I duly received your letter, though not until I emerged from my captivity; and that, of course, I resign all claim to--to something that is not mine, and never was." She made no reply. She looked upon the broad, dusty back of the driver, who inquisitively glanced round every second minute, wondering what the foreigners were saying to one another. It was impossible to break through the wall that Felix had erected. She stared straight in front of her, and wondered how she could bear the long days of companionship which stretched before them. He turned from her, to search in a bag, which he carried. "I have some English books here," he said, coolly. "Possibly you may not have read them all. Nadia Stepanovna has an English lady living with her, and they lent me some books to beguile the tedium of the journey." "You are very kind. I will try to keep quiet for the future, and not annoy you with attempts to converse," said Rona, with slow, but fierce emphasis. He held out some English novels towards her, and she took them, without looking at them. Picking up one at random, she began to read it, the type dancing before her eyes, her brain absorbing no word of the sense. If this were his attitude, she could play at it too. She had been so steeped in compassion and compunction that she had yearned to tell him something of what she felt, of her difficulties, her anxieties. But since he bore her so bitter a grudge she would not try to explain, far less to apologize. How unlike he was to Denzil! How differently Denzil would have behaved, she told herself furiously. She did not look at him again until the first stage was over, and they were stopping at a post-house for a fresh team. She saw, in the lovely, lingering northern twilight, the outline of a dark wooden house, surrounded by a somewhat filthy yard, the floor of which was formed of pine logs laid down side by side. "We can get good tea here," said Felix, "but I think, as the house is pretty dirty, it would be pleasanter to eat our supper on the grass. If you think so, I will go and see about it, but if you prefer to go in, there is a guest-room." She preferred to stay without. Never in all her life had she seen anything so beautiful as the starry sky which enveloped the Steppe from marge to marge.