"Oh, there you go again!" she cried impatiently. "Always sin and innocence! I am a stupid woman, full of beliefs and superstitions— nothing more—like all women. I want to conceive here, to breed and bear a child here. Do you wish to be the father?"
She stood up, looking intently into Polunin's eyes.
"What are you saying, Kseniya?" he asked in a low, grave, pained tone.
"I have told you what I want. Give me a child and then go—anywhere— back to your Alena! I have not forgotten that June and July."
"I cannot," Polunin replied firmly; "I love Alena."
"I do not want love," she persisted; "I have no need of it. Indeed I have not, for I do not even love you!" She spoke in a low, faint voice, and passed her hand over her face.
"I must go," the man said at last.
She looked at him sharply. "Where to?"
"How do you mean 'where to'? I must go away altogether!"
"Ah, those tragedies, duties, and sins again!" she cried, her eyes burning into his with hatred and contempt. "Isn't it all perfectly simple? Didn't you make a contract with me?"