First loves -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
“Dimitri Pavlovitch,” began Maria Nikolaevna, and sank into thought
again…. “Dimitri Pavlovitch,” she repeated…. “Do you know what: I am
sure the purchase of your estate will be a very profitable transaction
for me, and that we shall come to terms; but you must give me two
days…. Yes, two days’ grace. You are able to endure two days’
separation from your betrothed, aren’t you? Longer I won’t keep you
against your will—I give you my word of honour. But if you want five or
six thousand francs at once, I am ready with great pleasure to let you
have it as a loan, and then we’ll settle later.”
Sanin got up. “I must thank you, Maria Nikolaevna, for your kindhearted
and friendly readiness to do a service to a man almost unknown to you.
But if that is your decided wish, then I prefer to await your decision
about my estate—I will stay here two days.”
“Yes; that is my wish, Dimitri Pavlovitch. And will it be very hard for
you? Very? Tell me.”
“I love my betrothed, Maria Nikolaevna, and to be separated from her is
hard for me.”
“Ah! you’re a heart of gold!” Maria Nikolaevna commented with a sigh.
“I promise not to torment you too much. Are you going?”
“It is late,” observed Sanin.
“And you want to rest after your journey, and your game of ‘fools’ with
my husband. Tell me, were you a great friend of Ippolit Sidorovitch, my
husband?”
“We were educated at the same school.”
“And was he the same then?”
“The same as what?” inquired Sanin. Maria Nikolaevna burst out
laughing, and laughed till she was red in the face; she put her
handkerchief to her lips, rose from her chair, and swaying as though
she were tired, went up to Sanin, and held out her hand to him.
He bowed over it, and went towards the door.
“Come early to-morrow—do you hear?” she called after him. He looked
back as he went out of the room, and saw that she had again dropped
into an easy-chair, and flung both arms behind her head. The loose
sleeves of her tea-gown fell open almost to her shoulders, and it was
impossible not to admit that the pose of the arms, that the whole
figure, was enchantingly beautiful.
XXXVI
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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