No, thought Raisky to himself, she could not have taken for her idol a wandering, ragged gipsy like that. Then he wondered whether the possibility could be entirely excluded, since passion wanders where he lists, and not in obedience to the convictions and dictates of man. He is invincible, and master of his own inexplicable moods. But Vera had never had any opportunity of meeting Mark, he concluded, and was merely afraid of him as every one else was.
Leonti’s condition was unchanged. He wandered about like a drunken man, silent and listening for the noise of any carriage in the street, when he would rush to the window to look if it bore his fugitive wife.
He would come to them in a few weeks, he said, after Marfinka’s wedding, as Vera suggested. Then he became aware of Vera’s presence.
“Vera Vassilievna!” he cried in surprise, staring at her as he addressed Raisky. “Do you know, Boris Pavlovich, who else has read your books and helped me to arrange them?”
“Who has been reading my books?” asked Raisky.
But Leonti had been distracted by the sound of a passing carriage and did not hear the question. Vera whispered to Raisky that they should go.
“I wanted to say something, Boris Pavlovich,” said Leonti thoughtfully, raising his head, “but I can’t remember what.”
“You said some one else had been reading my books.”
Leonti pointed to Vera, who was looking out of the window, but who now pulled Raisky’s sleeve “Come!” she said and they left the house.
When they reached home Vera made over some of her purchases to her aunt, and had others taken to her room. She asked Raisky to go out with her again in the park and down by the Volga.