“Listen, Marfa Vassilievna, my angel,” he cried, falling on his knees. “On my knees I swear....”
“If you speak another word, I go straight to Grandmother.”
He rose, and led her by force into the avenue.
“What are you doing? I will call, I won’t listen to your nightingale.”
“You won’t listen to it, but you will to me.”
“Let me go. I will tell Grandmother everything.”
“You must tell her to-night, Marfa Vassilievna. We have come too near to one another that if we were suddenly separated.... Should you like that, Marfa Vassilievna? If you like I will go away for good.”
She wept and seized his hand in panic, when he drew back a step.
“You love me, you love me,” he cried.
“Does your mother know what you are saying to me?”