After this there befell a silence. But he felt that he must go to the bottom of the subject. He saw his duty, and overcame his pain.
"Think a little, Anna. Our souls were made for each other; but our persons are placed in such different circumstances, separated by so many things, such great distances, that not even a miracle could unite them. You accuse me of being a traitor to our love, which is our strength; but is it unworthy of us to conquer ourselves in such a pass? Anna, Anna, it is I who lose everything; and yet I advise you to forget this youthful fancy. You are young; you are beautiful; you are rich; you are noble, and you love me; yet it is my duty to say to you, forget me—forget me. Consider how great the sacrifice is, and see if it is not our duty, as two good people, to make it courageously. Anna, you will be loved again, better still, by a better man. You deserve the purest and the noblest love. You won't be unhappy long. Life is still sweet for you. You weep, yes; you suffer; because you love me, because you are a dear, loving woman. But afterwards, afterwards you will find your path broad and flowery. It is I who will have nothing left; the light of my life will go out, the fire in my heart. But what does it matter? You will forget me, Anna."
Anna, motionless, listened to him, uttering no word.
"Speak," he said, anxiously.
"I can't forget you," she answered.
"Try—make the effort. Let us try not to see each other."
"No, no; it's useless," she said, her voice dying on her lips.
"What do you wish us to do?"
"I don't know. I don't know."
A great impulse of pity, greater than his own sorrow, assailed him. He took her hands; they were cold now.