"I have never made one without love. And I love only Alena. I must go."
"Oh, what cruel, ascetical egoism!" she cried violently. Then suddenly all her rage died down, and she sat quietly in the chair, covering her face with her hands.
Polunin stood by, his shoulders bowed, his arms hanging limply. His face betrayed grief and anxiety.
Kseniya looked up at him with a wan smile: "It is all right—there is no need to go… It was only my nonsense…. I was merely venting my anger…. Don't mind me …. I am tired and harassed. Of course I have not been purged. I know that is impossible… We are the 'heisha-girls of lantern-light'…. You remember Annensky? … Give me your hand."
Polunin stretched out his large hand, took her yielding one in his and pressed its delicate fingers.
"You have forgiven me?" she murmured.
He looked at her helplessly, then muttered: "I cannot either forgive or not forgive. But … I cannot!"
"Never mind; we shall forget. We shall be cheerful and happy. You remember: 'Where beauty shines amidst mire and baseness there is only torment'…. You need not mind, it is all over!"
She uttered the last few words with a cry, raised herself erect, and laughed aloud with forced gaiety.
"We shall tell fortunes, jest, drink, be merry—like our grandfathers … you remember! …Had not our grandmothers their coachmen friends?"