"I am going to the wood."
"I have come back here after not having seen you for months, and we have not yet spoken a word…."
Ivanov did not reply, but went out. His footsteps echoed through the great house, finally dying away in the distance. The front-door slammed, shaking the whole mansion, which was old and falling to pieces.
Lydia Constantinovna remained in the middle of the room, her face turned to the door. Mintz approached, took her hand, and raised it to his lips.
"You must not take it to heart, Lit," he said softly and kindly.
She freed her hand and laid it on Mintz's shoulder.
"No, one should not take it to heart," she assented in a low voice, "One should not…. But listen, Mintz…. How strange it all is! Once he loved me very much, though I never loved him…. But my youth was spent here, and now I feel unhappy…. I remember all that happened in this drawing-room, it was the first time. If only I could have all over again! Perhaps I should act differently then. I feel sorry now for my youth and inexperience, though formerly I cursed them, and I am far from regretting all that followed afterwards. But I need a refuge now…. If you only knew how much he loved me in those days!…"
Lydia Constantinovna was silent a moment, her head bent, then flinging it back she gave a hollow sardonic laugh.
"Oh, what nonsense I talk! Well, we will be cheerful yet. I am tired, that is all. How stuffy it is in here!… Open the windows, Mintz … Now let down the blinds … They live on milk and black bread here and are happy—but I have a bottle of brandy in my trunk. Get it out! Light the chandelier."
Mintz opened the windows. From outside came a cool, refreshing breeze laden with the moist and fragrant perfumes of spring. Dusk had crept over the sky, which was flecked with warm vernal clouds.