"You see," added he, after a moment's silence, "that I treat Annouchka like a spoiled child, and it could not be otherwise; I could not be exacting towards any body, how much less towards her?"
I did not reply. Gaguine began to talk upon another subject. The more I learned to know him the more he inspired me with affection. I soon summed up his character; it was a fine, good Russian nature, straightforward, upright, and unaffected, but unfortunately wanting in energy and earnestness. His youth did not give forth passion and ardor, but shone with a sweet and dim light. He had wit and charming manners, but how difficult to conjecture what would become of him when he became a man! An artist—no! Every art calls for hard work, unceasing efforts; and never, I said to myself, in looking at his calm features, listening to his languid voice, never could he bind himself to constant and well-directed work. And yet it was impossible not to like him; one became attached to him involuntarily. We passed nearly four hours together, sometimes side by side upon the sofa, sometimes walking slowly before the house, and our talk ended by uniting us. The sun went down, and I was thinking about going home.
Annouchka had not yet returned.
"Ah, what a wayward child!" exclaimed Gaguine. "Wait, I will see you home; would you not like to have me? As we go we will stop at Dame Louise's and see if she is yet there; it will not be much out of the way."
We descended into the town, and after following for a short time a narrow and winding street, we stopped before a high, four-storied house, with but two windows in front; the second story projected over the street more than the first, and in the same manner the other two. This strange habitation, with its Gothic arches, placed upon two enormous posts and topped with a pointed tiled roof, and a dormer window, surmounted by an iron crane extended in the form of a beak, had the effect of an enormous bird meditating.
"Annouchka, are you there?" cried Gaguine.
A lighted window opened in the third story, and we perceived the brown head of the young girl. Behind her appeared the toothless face of an old German woman, her eyes weak with age.
"Here I am," said Annouchka, leaning coquettishly on the window-sill. "I like it very well. Wait, take this," added she, throwing to Gaguine a slip of geranium. "Imagine to yourself that I am the lady of your thoughts."
Dame Louise began to laugh.
"He is going away," replied Gaguine; "he wishes to bid you farewell."