“It is a beautiful place,” admitted Raisky, “but the view, the river bank, the hills, the forest—all these things would became tedious if they were not inhabited by living creatures which share our feelings and exchange ideas with us.”
She was silent.
“Vera!” said Raisky after a pause.
“Ah!” she said, as if she had only just heard his remarks, “I don’t live alone; Grandmother, Marfinka....”
“As if you shared your sympathies and thoughts with them. But perhaps you have a congenial spirit here?”
Vera nodded her head.
“Who is that happy individual?” he stammered, urged on by envy, terror and jealousy.
“The pope’s wife with whom I have been stopping,” said Vera as she rose and shook the crumbs from her apron. “You must have heard of her.”
“The pope’s wife!” he repeated.
“When she is here with me we both admire the Volga, we are never tired of talking about it. Will you have some more coffee? May I have it cleared away?”