“Yes, Olia, what have you done?” I said, standing before her with folded arms.
“Why did I marry him? Where were my eyes? Where was my sense?”
“Yes, Olia.… It is difficult to explain your action. To explain it by inexperience is too indulgent; to explain it by depravity—I would rather not.…”
“I only understood it to-day … only to-day! Why did I not understand it yesterday? Now all is irrevocable, all is lost! All, all! I might have married the man I love, the man who loves me!”
“Who is that, Olia?” I asked.
“You!” she said, looking me straight and openly in the eyes. “But I was too hasty! I was foolish! You are clever, noble, young.… You are rich! You appeared to me unattainable!”
“Well, that's enough, Olia,” I said, taking her by the hand. “Wipe your little eyes and come along.… They are waiting for you there.… Well, don't cry any more, don't cry.…” I kissed her hand.… “That's enough, little girl! You have done a foolish thing and are now paying for it.… It was your fault.… Well, that's enough, be calm.…”
“But you love me? Yes? You are so big, so handsome! Don't you love me?”
“It's time to go, my darling.…” I said, noticing to my great horror that I was kissing her forehead, taking her round the waist, that she was scorching me with her hot breath and that she was hanging round my neck.
“Enough!” I mumbled. “That must satisfy you!”