“That does not matter. What really counts is the singing. The atmosphere that surrounds him should be bright with unstudied gaiety. He ought to live, so to speak, in a whirlwind of sunshine!”
“Well, I will try,” I sighed, without much conviction.
I did try.
I dressed in the lightest of colors and I pinned a ribbon in my hair. When I heard his footstep, I ran to meet him and threw my arms round his neck.
“What is the matter?” he asked. “And what on earth have you got on your head? You look like a barmaid.”
To the best of my powers I was a whirlwind of sunshine; and as soon as I saw that he was dull and silent (and this occurred almost immediately) I said to myself that the moment was come for me to sing to him.
I sat down at the piano. I have not much ear, but a fine strong voice, even if not always quite in tune.
At the second bar Vassili got up, took his hat and left the house. I threw a flower to him from the window.
He did not come back for three days.