“I hold my own.”
Werner was delighted.
“That’s the way, that’s the way. Good boy. That’s the way.”
But his eyes met Vasily’s dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the distance and he thought with instant sorrow: “From where is he looking? From where is he speaking?” and with profound tenderness, with which people address a grave, he said:
“Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much.”
“So do I love you very much,” answered the tongue, moving with difficulty.
Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of surprise, she said like an actress on the stage, with measured emphasis:
“Werner, what is this? You said, ‘I love’? You never before said ‘I love’ to anybody. And why are you all so—tender and serene? Why?”
“Why?”
And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed Musya’s hand firmly: