We explored the ruins minutely. Annouchka kept behind us, and we began to admire the view. When the dinner hour arrived, Gaguine paid the old woman, and asked from her a last jug of beer; then turning to me, he said with a shy smile:—
"To the lady of your thoughts!"
"He has then—you have then a lady of whom you think?" asked Annouchka.
"And who has not?" replied Gaguine.
Annouchka remained thoughtful for some moments, the expression of her face changed again, and a smile of defiance, almost impudent, appeared once more upon her lips.
We again took our way to the house, and Annouchka again began to laugh and frolic with more affectation than before. Breaking a branch from a tree, she shouldered it like a gun, and rolled her scarf about her head. I remember that we then met a large family of English people, with light hair, looking awkward; all, as if obeying a word of command, threw upon Annouchka their blue eyes, in which was depicted a cold look of astonishment; she began to sing in a loud voice, as if to defy them. When we arrived, she immediately went to her room, and did not reappear until dinner, decked out in her finest dress, her hair dressed with care, wearing a tight-fitting bodice, and gloves on her hands. At table she sat with dignity, scarcely tasted anything, and drank only water. It was evident she wished to play a new rôle in my presence: that of a young person, modest and well-bred. Gaguine did not restrain her; you could see that it was his custom to contradict her in nothing. From time to time he contented himself with looking at me, faintly shrugging his shoulders, and his kindly eye seemed to say: "She is but a child; be indulgent." Immediately after dinner she rose, bowed to us, and, putting on her hat, asked of Gaguine if she could go and see Dame Louise.
"How long have you been in need of my permission?" he replied, with his usual smile, which this time, however, was slightly constrained; "you are tired of us, then?"
"No; but yesterday I promised Dame Louise to go and see her; besides, I think you would be more at your ease without me. Monsieur," she added, turning to me, "you will—you will perhaps, have some more confidences."
She left us.
"Dame Louise," said Gaguine, trying to avoid my look, "is the widow of the old burgomaster of the town. She is rather a plain, but an excellent old woman. She has a great liking for Annouchka, who, moreover, has a mania for becoming intimate with people below her; a mania that, as far as I can observe, almost always springs from pride."