“Twenty-two.”
“Really? I’m twenty-two too. A nice age. Add both together and you’re still far off old age. It’s hot, though. Am I very red, eh?”
“Like a poppy!”
Maria Nikolaevna rubbed her face with her handkerchief. “We’ve only to get to the forest and there it will be cool. Such an old forest is like an old friend. Have you any friends?”
Sanin thought a little. “Yes … only few. No real ones.”
“I have; real ones—but not old ones. This is a friend too—a horse. How carefully it carries one! Ah, but it’s splendid here! Is it possible I am going to Paris the day after to-morrow?”
“Yes … is it possible?” Sanin chimed in.
“And you to Frankfort?”
“I am certainly going to Frankfort.”
“Well, what of it? Good luck go with you! Anyway, to-day’s ours … ours … ours!”