“Vera Vassilievna,” he said, kissing her hand. “I could not esteem anybody under compulsion. If I give anyone a greeting in the street, he has my esteem; if he has not my esteem, I pass him by. I greet you as before, and because you are unhappy my love for you is greater than before. You are enduring a great sorrow, as I am. You have lost your hopes of happiness,” he added in a low, melancholy tone. “If you had kept your secret from me and I had heard it by chance, even so my esteem for you could not have been diminished. For there is no duty laid on you to reveal a secret which belongs to you alone. No one has the right to judge you.” The last words were spoken in a trembling voice which made it clear that he also was oppressed by the secret, the weight of which he desired to lighten for Vera.
“I had to tell you to-day when you made your declaration to me. I felt it was impossible to leave you in ignorance.”
“You might very well have answered me with a categorical ‘No.’ But since you do me the honour, Vera Vassilievna, of bestowing your particular friendship on me, you might have gilded your ‘No’ by saying that you loved another. That would have been sufficient for me, for I should never have asked you who, and your secret would, without doubt, have remained your own.” He pointed to the precipice, and collecting his whole strength whispered, “A misfortune....” Although he tried with all his might not to let her see how disturbed he was, he was hardly able to speak clearly. “A misfortune,” he repeated. “You say that he has justification, that the guilt is yours; if that is so, where does justice lie?”
“I told you, Ivan Ivanovich, that my confession was not necessary for your sake, but for mine. You know how I esteem your friendship, and it would have caused me unspeakable pain to deceive you. Even now, when I have hidden nothing from you, I cannot look you in the eyes.” Tears stifled her voice, and it was with difficulty that Tushin held back his own tears; he stooped and kissed her hand once more.
“Thanks, a thousand thanks, Vera Vassilievna. I see that an affection for another has no power to lessen your friendship for me, and that is a wonderful consolation.”
“Ivan Ivanovich, if I could only cut this year out of my life.”
“A speedy forgetfulness,” he said, “comes to the same thing.”
“How can I forget, and where can I find the strength to endure its memory?”
“You will find strength in friendship, and I am one of your friends.”
She breathed another air for the moment, conscious that there was beside her a tower of strength, under whose shadow her passion and her pain were alleviated. “I believe in your friendship, Ivan Ivanovich, and thank you for it,” she said, drying her tears. “I already feel calmer, and should feel still calmer if Grandmother....”