But how could I tell him all that I had in the bottom of my heart? The thought that he had seen through me at once, that again I found myself as a child before him, that I could do nothing that he did not comprehend and foresee, excited me more than ever.
“I have nothing against you,” said I, “but I am tired, and I do not like ennui. You say that this must be so, and, of course, once more you are right!”
As I spoke, I looked in his face. My object was attained; his serenity had disappeared; alarm and pain were stamped upon his face.
“Katia!” he began, in a low, agitated voice, “this is no jesting we are engaged in, at this moment. Our fate is being decided. I ask you to say nothing, only to hear me. Why are you torturing me thus?”
But I broke in.
“Say no more, you are right,” said I, coldly, as if it were not I, but some evil spirit speaking with my lips.
“If you knew what you are doing!” he exclaimed in a trembling voice.
I began to cry, and I felt my heart somewhat relieved. He was sitting near me, silent. I was sorry for him, ashamed of myself, troubled by what I had done. I did not look at him. I felt sure that he was looking at me, and that his eyes were perplexed or severe. I turned; his eyes were indeed fixed upon me, but they were kind and gentle and seemed entreating forgiveness. I took his hand, and said:
“Pardon me! I do not know, myself, what I said.”
“Yes, but I know what you said, and I know that you spoke the truth.”