“Not to notice how lovely you are? To look at you as if you were Grandmother. But even if I adore your beauty in silence from a distance, you would know it, and can you forbid me that? Passion may melt the surface and there may steal into your heart an affection for me. Don’t let me leave you without any hope. Can you not give me any?”
“I cannot!”
“How can you tell? There may come a time.”
“No, Cousin, never.”
Unmanned by terror, he collected his strength to say breathlessly:
“You are no longer free? You love?”
She knit her brow and looked down on the Volga.
“And is there any sin if I do? Will you not permit it, Cousin?” she asked ironically.
“I! I, who bring you the lofty philosophy of freedom, how should I not permit you to love. Love independently of everybody, conceal nothing, fear neither Granny nor anyone else. The dawn of freedom is red in the sky, and shall woman alone be enslaved? You love. Say so boldly, for passion is happiness, and allow others at least to envy you.”
“I concede no one the right to call me to account; I am free.”