The arms of Plavitski opened wide, and Mashko bent toward them, repeating, not without emotion, but always with lofty dignity,—
“I thank, I thank—”
After a while he found himself in the drawing-room.
Marynia appeared with a face which had grown very pale; but she was calm. Mashko pushed a chair toward her, seated himself in another, and began,—
“I am here by the approval of your father. My words can tell you nothing beyond what my silence has told already, and which you have divined. But since the moment has come in which I should mention my feelings explicitly, I do this then with all confidence in your heart and character. I am a man who loves you, on whom you may lean; therefore I put in your hands my life, and I beg you from the bottom of my heart to consent to go with me.”
Marynia was silent for a moment, as if seeking words, then she said,—
“I ought to answer you clearly and sincerely. This confession is for me very difficult; but I do not wish such a man as you to deceive himself. I have not loved you; I do not love you, and I will not be your wife, even should it come to me never to be any one’s.”
Then a still more prolonged silence followed. The spots on Mashko’s face assumed a deeper hue, and his eyes cast cold steel gleams.
“This answer,” said he, “is as decided as it is painful to me and unexpected. But will you not give yourself a few days to consider, instead of rejecting me decisively at this moment?”
“You have said that I divined your feelings; I had time then to make my decision, and the answer which I gave you, I give after thorough reflection.”