It was Kamarowsky himself who begged me to leave Venice for Kieff, where some formalities still remained to be accomplished before our impending marriage. He offered to accompany me, but I declined. He resigned himself, therefore, though with reluctance, to allowing me to start alone with Elise.
“Now,” said Prilukoff, on the eve of my departure—and the transversal vein stood out like whipcord on his forehead—“let there be no more backing out and putting off. You will see Naumoff in Russia; send him straight back here. I'm sick of this business; let us get it over.”
I bowed my head and wept.
Kamarowsky took me to the railway station, where I found the compartment he had reserved for me already filled with flowers. I thanked him with trembling lips.
“In three weeks, my love,” he said, “you will be back again, and then I shall not part from you any more.” He kissed me and stepped down upon the platform, where he stood gazing up at me with smiling eyes. Many people stood near, watching us. I leaned out of the carriage window, and as I looked at him I kept repeating to myself: “This is the last time I shall see him! The last time!”
It seemed strange and incongruous to see him there, with his usual aspect, making ordinary gestures and uttering commonplace remarks. Knowing as I did that he stood on the threshold of death, I wondered that he had not a more staid and solemn demeanor, slower, graver gestures and memorable words.
Whereas he was saying, with a smile: “Mind you don't lose your purse; and remember to look after your luggage at the Customs. You will have the dining-car at Bozen.” And then, looking about him: “Would you like some newspapers?” He hurried away after the newsvendor, and then counted his change and argued about a coin which he thought was counterfeit. He came back to my carriage door, handed me the newspapers, and with his handkerchief dried his forehead and the inside of his hat.
“Fearfully hot,” he said, looking up at me with a friendly laugh.
All this seemed terribly out of keeping with the tragic situation of which, all unconsciously, he was the hero. I tried to say something tender and affectionate to him, but my agitation stifled me.
“Mind you are good,” he said, still smiling, and he threw a glance at some officers in the compartment next to mine.