Ivanov was asleep on the sofa. He lay on his back, his arms extended; the outlines of his body could just be discerned. Lydia sat down quietly beside him and laid her hand on his breast. Ivanov sighed, drew in his arms and raised his head quickly from the pillow:
"Who is there?"
"It is I, Sergius—me—Lida," answered Lydia Constantinovna in a rapid whisper. "I know you do not wish to speak to me. I am bored … I returned here in a happy mood, not even thinking of you, and now all at once I feel wretched…. Oh, those perfumes! How they torment me…." She passed her hand over her face, then was silent. Ivanov sat up.
"What is the matter Lida? What do you want?" he asked drowsily, and he lighted a cigarette. The light shone on them as they sat half- dressed on the sofa. Ivanov had a rugged, lumbering look.
"What do I want?" Lydia Constantinovna murmured. "Age creeps on me, Sergius, and a lonely old age is terrible … I feel so weary…. I came here happy enough, now I am miserable. I can think of nothing but the time you and I spent here together … I am always playing" A Summer's Night in Berezovka "—do you remember? I used to play it to you in those days…. Well, so there you see…. Age creeps on and I am longing for a home…. To-day they had the Twelfth Gospel Service…. Surely we still have a word for each other?" Her face clouded in sudden doubt. "You have been with Arina then?" she questioned sharply.
Ivanov did not answer immediately.
"I have grieved and worried greatly, Lida," he said at last, "but that does not matter. These four years I have lived alone, and have placed the past behind me. It is gone for ever. These four years I have struggled against death, and struggled for my daily bread. You know nothing of all this, we are as strangers…. Yes, I have been with Arina. Soon I shall have a son. I do not know if I am broken or merely tired, but for the moment I feel all right. I am going to bring Arina here, she will be my wife and keep house for me. And I shall live…. I am keeping step with some elemental Force . . . I shall have a son…. It will be a totally different life for me, Lida."
"And for me Moscow—as ever—wine, theatres, cafes, Mintz, an eternal hurly-burly … I am sick of it!"
"I cannot help you, Lida. I too am sick of all that, but now I am at peace. We must all work out our own salvation."
Ivanov spoke very quietly and simply. Lydia Constantinovna sat bowed and motionless, as if fearing to move, clasping her knees with both hands. When Ivanov ceased speaking she rose noiselessly and went towards the door. She stood on the threshold a brief moment then, went out. The candle still burnt fitfully in the drawing-room. The house was wrapt in silence.