"How can I fulfil it? My father is expecting me at home, and I ought not to stay a day longer. You had better read through Notions Générales de Chimie, by Pelouse and Frémy. It is an excellent work, and clearly written—the very thing you want."
"But you said that no book can adequately replace—I forget the exact phrase you used, but you know what I mean, do you not?"
"I cannot help myself," he muttered.
"Nevertheless, why go?" She lowered her voice as she spoke. Bazarov glanced at her as she leant back in her chair and crossed her arms (which were bare to the elbow), and saw that by the light of the lamp (softened with a shade of pleated paper) she was looking paler than usual—also that the outlines of her figure were almost buried in a soft white gown, from underneath which there peeped forth the tips of her toes, posed crosswise.
"What reason should I have for remaining?" he replied.
She gave her head the faintest toss.
"What reason should you have?" she re-echoed. "Well, are you not happy here? Do you think that there will be no one to regret your departure?"
"There will be no one. Of that I am certain."
"Then you are wrong," came the reply after a pause. "But I do not believe you—I have an idea that you are not speaking seriously."
Bazarov said nothing.