"You are being unjust again," Polunin protested. "You know very well that I love you."
Kseniya Ippolytovna gave a short laugh: "Oh, come, come! None of that!" She drank her glass of tea feverishly, threw herself back in the chair, and was silent.
Polunin also took his, warming himself after his cold drive.
She spoke again after a while in a quiet dreamy tone: "In this stove, flames will suddenly flare up, then die away, and it will become cold. You and I have always had broken conversations. Perhaps the Arkhipovs are right—when it seems expedient, kill! When it seems expedient, breed! That is wise, prudent, honest…." Suddenly she sat erect, pouring out quick, passionate, uneven words:
"Do you love me? Do you desire me … as a woman?… to kiss, to caress?… You understand? No, be silent! I am purged…. I come to you as you came to me that June…. You didn't understand about the mice?… Or perhaps you did.
"Have you noticed, have you ever reflected on that which does not change in man's life, but for ever remains the same? No, no, wait!… There have been hundreds of religions, ethics, aesthetics, sciences, philosophical systems: they have all changed and are still changing— only one law remains unaltered, that all living things—whether men, mice, or rye—are born, breed, and die.
"I was packing up for Nice, where a lover expected me, when suddenly I felt an overwhelming desire for a babe, a dear, sweet, little babe of my own, and I remembered you …. Then I travelled here, to Russia so as to bear it in reverence…. I am able to do so now!…"
Polunin rose and stood close to Kseniya Ippolytovna: his expression was serious and alarmed.
"Don't beat me," she murmured.
"You are innocent, Kseniya," he replied.