“Well, what then? Don’t people come back from Siberia? And as for losing one’s life; it is not all like honey to everybody. To some it is sweet, to others bitter. His life has not been over-sweet.”
Mashurina gave Mariana a fixed searching look.
“How beautiful you are!” she exclaimed, “just like a bird! I don’t think Alexai is coming.... I’ll give you the letter. It’s no use waiting any longer.”
“I will give it him, you may be sure.”
Mashurina rested her cheek in her hand and for a long, long time did not speak.
“Tell me,” she began, “forgive me for asking ... do you love him?”
“Yes.”
Mashurina shook her heavy head.
“There is no need to ask if he loves you. However, I had better be going, otherwise I shall be late. Tell him that I was here ... give him my kind regards. Tell him Mashurina was here. You won’t forget my name, will you? Mashurina. And the letter ... but say, where have I put it?”
Mashurina stood up, turned round as though she were rummaging in her pockets for the letter, and quickly raising a small piece of folded paper to her lips, swallowed it. “Oh, dear me! What have I done with it? Have I lost it? I must have dropped it. Dear me! Supposing some one should find it! I can’t find it anywhere. It’s turned out exactly as Sergai Mihailovitch wanted after all!”