She cast a glance at him, and started to play again, looking at the strings and saying pensively:
“Spring. How good it is that you are but beginning to live. The heart is full of power, and there is nothing dark in it.”
“Sophya Pavlovna!” exclaimed Foma, softly. She interrupted him with a caressing gesture.
“Wait, dearest! Today I can tell you something good. Do you know, a person who has lived long has such moments that when he looks into his heart he unexpectedly finds there something long forgotten. For years it lay somewhere in the depth of his heart, but lost none of the fragrance of youth, and when memory touches it, then spring comes over that person, breathing upon him the vivifying freshness of the morning of his life. This is good, though it is very sad.”
The strings trembled and wept under the touch of her fingers, and it seemed to Foma that their sounds and the soft voice of the woman were touching his heart gently and caressingly. But, still firm in his decision, he listened to her words and, not knowing their meaning, thought:
“You may speak! And I won’t believe anything you may say.”
This thought irritated him. And he felt sorry that he could not listen to her words as attentively and trustfully as before.
“Are you thinking of how it is necessary to live?” asked the woman.
“Sometimes I think of it, and then I forget again. I have no time for it!” said Foma and smiled. “And then, what is there to think of? It is simple. You see how others live. Well, consequently, you must imitate them.”
“Ah, don’t do this! Spare yourself. You are so good! There is something peculiar in you; what—I do not know. But it can be felt. And it seems to me, it will be very hard for you to get along in life. I am sure, you will not go along the usual way of the people of your circle. No! You cannot be pleased with a life which is wholly devoted to gain, to hunts after the rouble, to this business of yours. Oh, no! I know, you will have a desire for something else, will you not?”