“And was he the same then?”
“The same as what?” inquired Sanin. Maria Nikolaevna burst out laughing, and laughed till she was red in the face; she put her handkerchief to her lips, rose from her chair, and swaying as though she were tired, went up to Sanin, and held out her hand to him.
He bowed over it, and went towards the door.
“Come early to-morrow—do you hear?” she called after him. He looked back as he went out of the room, and saw that she had again dropped into an easy-chair, and flung both arms behind her head. The loose sleeves of her tea-gown fell open almost to her shoulders, and it was impossible not to admit that the pose of the arms, that the whole figure, was enchantingly beautiful.
XXXVI
Long after midnight the lamp was burning in Sanin’s room. He sat down to the table and wrote to “his Gemma.” He told her everything; he described the Polozovs—husband and wife—but, more than all, enlarged on his own feelings, and ended by appointing a meeting with her in three days!!! (with three marks of exclamation). Early in the morning he took this letter to the post, and went for a walk in the garden of the Kurhaus, where music was already being played. There were few people in it as yet; he stood before the arbour in which the orchestra was placed, listened to an adaptation of airs from “Robert le Diable,” and after drinking some coffee, turned into a solitary side walk, sat down on a bench, and fell into a reverie. The handle of a parasol gave him a rapid, and rather vigorous, thump on the shoulder. He started…. Before him in a light, grey-green barége dress, in a white tulle hat, and suède gloves, stood Maria Nikolaevna, fresh and rosy as a summer morning, though the languor of sound unbroken sleep had not yet quite vanished from her movements and her eyes.
“Good-morning,” she said. “I sent after you to-day, but you’d already gone out. I’ve only just drunk my second glass—they’re making me drink the water here, you know—whatever for, there’s no telling … am I not healthy enough? And now I have to walk for a whole hour. Will you be my companion? And then we’ll have some coffee.”
“I’ve had some already,” Sanin observed, getting up; “but I shall be very glad to have a walk with you.”
“Very well, give me your arm then; don’t be afraid: your betrothed is not here—she won’t see you.”
Sanin gave a constrained smile. He experienced a disagreeable sensation every time Maria Nikolaevna referred to Gemma. However, he made haste to bend towards her obediently…. Maria Nikolaevna’s arm slipped slowly and softly into his arm, and glided over it, and seemed to cling tight to it.