“How strange you are! What can I say?”
“If only one word—”
“There she’s firing away one and the same thing,” he muttered with vexation, and got up.
“Don’t be angry, Victor Alexandrich,” she added hastily, unable to repress her tears.
“I’m not angry—only you are foolish—What do you want? I can’t marry you! I can’t, can I? Well, then, what do you want? What?” He stared at her, as if awaiting an answer, and opened his fingers wide.
“I want nothing—nothing,” she replied, stammering, not daring to outstretch her trembling hands to him, “but simply so, at least one word, at parting—”
And the tears began to stream from her eyes.
“Well, there you are, she’s started crying,” said Victor indifferently, pulling the cap over his eyes.
“I don’t want anything,” she went on, sobbing and covering her face with her hands; “but how will I feel now at home, how will I feel? And what will become of me, what will become of me, wretched one that I am? They’ll marry the poor little orphan off to a man she does not like. My poor little head!”
“Keep on singing, keep on singing,” muttered Victor in a low voice, stirring restlessly.