CHAPTER XXXII. NEKHLUDOFF’S ANARCHISM.
As soon as Nekhludoff returned that evening and saw his sister’s note on the table he started to go and see her. He found Nathalie alone, her husband having gone to take a rest in the next room. She wore a tightly-fitting black silk dress, with a red bow in front. Her black hair was crimped and arranged according to the latest fashion.
The pains she took to appear young, for the sake of her husband, whose equal she was in years, were very obvious.
When she saw her brother she jumped up and hurried towards him, with her silk dress rustling. They kissed, and looked smilingly at each other. There passed between them that mysterious exchange of looks, full of meaning, in which all was true, and which cannot be expressed in words. Then came words which were not true. They had not met since their mother’s death.
“You have grown stouter and younger,” he said, and her lips puckered up with pleasure.
“And you have grown thinner.”
“Well, and how is your husband?” Nekhludoff asked.
“He is taking a rest; he did not sleep all night.” There was much to say, but it was not said in words; only their looks expressed what their words failed to say.
“I went to see you.”