‘That is, I——’
‘Yes, you understand me. Remember your words, remember what you wrote to me. I can’t share you with others; no, no, I can’t consent to the pitiful rôle of secret lover; not my life alone, this other life too I have flung at your feet, I have renounced everything, I have crushed it all to dust, without compunction and beyond recall; but in return I trust, I firmly believe, that you too will keep your promise, and unite your lot with mine for ever.’
‘You want me to run away with you? I am ready....’ (Litvinov bent down to her hands in ecstasy.) ‘I am ready. I will not go back from my word. But have you yourself thought over all the difficulties—have you made preparations?’
‘I? I have not had time yet to think over or prepare anything, but only say yes, let me act, and before a month is over....’
‘A month! we start for Italy in a fortnight.’
‘A fortnight, then, is enough for me. O Irina, you seem to take my proposition coldly; perhaps it seems unpractical to you, but I am not a boy, I am not used to comforting myself with dreams, I know what a tremendous step this is, I know what a responsibility I am taking on myself; but I can see no other course. Think of it, I must break every tie with the past, if only not to be a contemptible liar in the eyes of the girl I have sacrificed for you!’
Irina drew herself up suddenly and her eyes flashed.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Grigory Mihalitch! If I decide, if I run away, then it will at least be with a man who does it for my sake, for my sake simply, and not in order that he may not degrade himself in the good opinion of a phlegmatic young person, with milk and water, du lait coupé instead of blood, in her veins! And I must tell you too, it’s the first time, I confess, that it’s been my lot to hear that the man I honour with my regard is deserving of commiseration, playing a pitiful part! I know a far more pitiful part, the part of a man who doesn’t know what is going on in his own heart!’
Litvinov drew himself up in his turn.
‘Irina,’ he was beginning——