“Is she sensible? Possibly a woman of weight and character?”
“Oh no! She is not stupid, is fairly educated, a great reader, and fond of dress. The pope, who is much liked by the local landowner, is not poor, and lives in comfort on his own land. He is a sensible man, belongs to the younger generation, but he leads too worldly a life for the priesthood, as is the custom in landed society. He reads French books, and smokes, for instance; things that are unsuited to the priestly garb. Every glance of Veroshka’s, every mood of hers is sacred to Natalie Ivanovna; whatever she may say is wise and good. This suits Vera, who does not want a friend, but an obedient servant; that is why she loves the pope’s wife.”
“And Vera loves you too?” asked Raisky, who wanted to know if Vera loved anybody else except the pope’s wife.
“Yes, she loves me,” answered Tatiana Markovna with conviction, “but in her own fashion. She never shows it, and never will, though she loves me and would be ready to die for me.”
“And you love Vera?”
“Ah, how I love her!” she sighed, and tears stood in her eyes. “She does not know, but perhaps one day she may learn.”
“Have you noticed how thoughtful she has been for some time. Is she not in love?” he added in a half-whisper, but immediately regretted the question, which it was too late to withdraw. His aunt started back as if a stone had hit her.
“God forbid!” she cried, making the sign of the Cross. “This sorrow has been spared us. Do not disturb my peace, but confess, as you would to the priest, if you know anything.”
Raisky was annoyed with himself, and made an effort, partially successful, to pacify his aunt.
“I have not noticed anything more than you have. She would hardly be likely to say anything to me that she kept secret from you.”