"'Ah, that accounts for it!' he cried, shaking with laughter, stepped up to me and offered me a red, horny hand, quite covered with cracks and weals. "'What an uncouth fellow!' I thought in my own mind. And when we had entered the room he looked me up and down again and said, 'You were quite a little thing yet, Olga, when I went away from here; now it seems like a wonder to me that you should be so like Martha!' "'I like Martha,' thought I, 'when was I ever in the least like Martha?' "'But no,' he continued, 'she was not so tall, and her hair was fairer, and she did not stand there so haughtily--and--and--did not make such serious eyes.' "'Ah, good Heavens,' thought I, 'you first look into Martha's eyes!' "At this moment the kitchen door opened quite, quite slowly, and through a narrow aperture she squeezed herself in. She had not taken off her white apron. Her face was as white as this apron, and her lips trembled. "'Welcome, Robert!' she said softly behind his back, for he had turned towards me. "At the first sound of her voice he veered round like lightning, and then for about a minute they stood facing each other without moving, without uttering a word. "I trembled. For two days I had lain in wait for this moment, and now it fell so wretchedly short of my expectations. Then they slowly approached each other, and kissed. This kiss too did not satisfy me. He could not have kissed _me_ differently; 'only that he did not attempt that at all,' I added mentally. And then they both were silent again. My heart beat so wildly that I had to press both hands to my bosom. "At last Martha said, 'Won't you take a seat, Robert?' "He nodded and threw himself into the sofa-corner so that all its joints creaked. He looked at her again and again, then after a long time he remarked, 'You are very much changed, Martha!' "I felt as if he had given me a slap in the face. "An unutterably sad smile played about Martha's lips. "'Yes, I suppose I am changed,' she then said. "Renewed silence. It seemed as if a long time were necessary for him to put a thought into words. "'Why did I never hear that you were ailing?' he began again at length. "'That I do not know.' she replied, with bitter affability. "'Could you not write to me about it?' "'Are we in the habit of writing to each other?' she asked in return. "He gave the table an angry shove. "'But if one is not well--then--then--'; he did not know how to proceed. "I pressed my fists together. I should so have liked to finish his sentence for him. "'Never mind.' said Martha, 'one often knows least one's self when one is not well.' "'I should think one ought to know that best one's self,' he replied. "'What if one does not think it worth while to take any notice of it?' This time she spoke without bitterness, modestly and quietly as she always spoke, and yet every word cut me to the quick. "('Oh, Martha, why did you repulse me?' a voice within me cried.)