If, at that instant, Insarov had lifted his eyes to Elena, he would have seen that her face grew brighter and brighter as he frowned and looked gloomy; but he kept his eyes obstinately fixed on the ground.
‘Well, good-bye, Dmitri Nikanorovitch,’ she began. ‘But at least, since we have met, give me your hand now.’
Insarov was stretching out his hand. ‘No, I can’t even do that,’ he said, and turned away again.
‘You can’t?’
‘No, I can’t. Good-bye.’ And he moved away to the entrance of the chapel.
‘Wait a little longer,’ said Elena. ‘You seem afraid of me. But I am braver than you,’ she added, a faint tremor passing suddenly over her whole body. ‘I can tell you... shall I?... how it was you found me here? Do you know where I was going?’
Insarov looked in bewilderment at Elena.
‘I was going to you.’
‘To me?’
Elena hid her face. ‘You mean to force me to say that I love you,’ she whispered. ‘There, I have said it.’