He trod on the last board with his left foot. It threw him into a cold sweat; but he instantly reassured himself.
“Pshaw! What nonsense! I’m like some old woman! Now then; one, two, three—at three I’ll go straight up to her, and speak. Yes, but what am I going to say? No matter! Here goes! One, two, three! No, three times over! One, two, three! One, two—”
His brain seemed on fire, his mouth grew parched, his heart beat so violently that his knees shook.
“Don’t stamp like that!” exclaimed Lida, opening her eyes. “One can’t hear anything.”
Only then was Novikoff aware that Sarudine was singing.
The young officer had chosen that old romance,
I loved you once! Can you forget?
Love in my heart is burning yet.
He did not sing badly, but after the style of untrained singers who seek to give expression by exaggerated tone-colour. Novikoff found nothing to please him in such a performance.
“What is that? One of his own compositions?” asked he, with unusual bitterness.
“No! Don’t disturb us, please, but sit down!” said Lida, sharply. “And if you don’t like music, go and look at the moon!”