“Yes, that’s it. I believe in it … and you will believe in it.” “Magic is sorcery …” Sanin repeated, “Anything in the world is possible. I used not to believe in it—but I do now. I don’t know myself.” Maria Nikolaevna thought a moment and looked about her. “I fancy this place seems familiar to me. Look, Sanin, behind that bushy oak—is there a red wooden cross, or not?” Sanin moved a few steps to one side. “Yes, there is.” Maria Nikolaevna smiled. “Ah, that’s good! I know where we are. We haven’t got lost as yet. What’s that tapping? A wood-cutter?” Sanin looked into the thicket. “Yes … there’s a man there chopping up dry branches.” “I must put my hair to rights,” said Maria Nikolaevna. “Else he’ll see me and be shocked.” She took off her hat and began plaiting up her long hair, silently and seriously. Sanin stood facing her … All the lines of her graceful limbs could be clearly seen through the dark folds of her habit, dotted here and there with tufts of moss. One of the horses suddenly shook itself behind Sanin’s back; he himself started and trembled from head to foot. Everything was in confusion within him, his nerves were strung up like harpstrings. He might well say he did not know himself…. He really was bewitched. His whole being was filled full of one thing … one idea, one desire. Maria Nikolaevna turned a keen look upon him. “Come, now everything’s as it should be,” she observed, putting on her hat. “Won’t you sit down? Here! No, wait a minute … don’t sit down! What’s that?” Over the tree-tops, over the air of the forest, rolled a dull rumbling. “Can it be thunder?” “I think it really is thunder,” answered Sanin. “Oh, this is a treat, a real treat! That was the only thing wanting!” The dull rumble was heard a second time, rose, and fell in a crash. “Bravo! Bis! Do you remember I spoke of the _Æneid_ yesterday? They too were overtaken by a storm in the forest, you know. We must be off, though.” She rose swiftly to her feet. “Bring me my horse…. Give me your hand. There, so. I’m not heavy.” She hopped like a bird into the saddle. Sanin too mounted his horse. “Are you going home?” he asked in an unsteady voice.