An instant passed... she broke away, got up, whispered ‘No, no,’ and went quickly up to the writing-table.
‘I am mistress here, you know, so you ought not to have any secrets from me,’ she said, trying to seem at ease, and standing with her back to him. ‘What a lot of papers! what are these letters?’
Insarov knitted his brows. ‘Those letters?’ he said, getting up, ‘you can read them.’
Elena turned them over in her hand. ‘There are so many of them, and the writing is so fine, and I have to go directly... let them be. They’re not from a rival, eh?... and they’re not in Russian,’ she added, turning over the thin sheets.
Insarov came close to her and fondly touched her waist. She turned suddenly to him, smiled brightly at him and leant against his shoulder.
‘Those letters are from Bulgaria, Elena; my friends write to me, they want me to come.’
‘Now? To them?’
‘Yes... now, while there is still time, while it is still possible to come.’
All at once she flung both arms round his neck, ‘You will take me with you, yes?’
He pressed her to his heart. ‘O my sweet girl, O my heroine, how you said that! But isn’t it wicked, isn’t it mad for me, a homeless, solitary man, to drag you with me... and out there too!’