She knew that he was married, and was proud for him that his wife was a princess, and a great beauty, and that she loved him idolatrously. Then she heard other things about him: that his distinguished wife had left him; that he wandered about the world, without rest or peace, bitter and desperate. A warm, deep compassion mingled with her enthusiasm.
Her whole family called her Senta, and did not ascribe the slightest importance to the matter.
Then it was announced that Lensky would give three concerts in Vienna, which he had avoided for some years. A true fever of excitement took possession of Nita. The Baroness Sankjéwitch did her utmost to fulfil her daughter's wish, to take her to one of the concerts. To go to Vienna and return by railroad was out of the question, as the concert took place late in the evening. She decided, therefore, to pass the night with Nita at a hotel.
At last came the concert. He appeared. He had never been handsome, and was no longer young. His hair was gray, and his fifty years were written plainly enough in deep furrows on his face. But he looked different from other men. There was something powerful and attractive in his personality, and a mysterious magnetism which could not be described or explained. Was Nita disappointed? No. She was more interested in him than ever. Only intensely musical natures could sympathize with the rapture amounting to pain with which she listened to the magic tones of his violin.
The next morning they were to return home. But on the same evening, after the concert, in the reading-room of the hotel, they made Madame Njikitjin's acquaintance. She was a still handsome elderly lady, with correct bearing and very charming manners. She won the Baroness' heart at once, and a few acquaintances gave her the best reports of the family of the stranger.
She laughed at Nita's enthusiasm, flattered the young girl, flattered the mother, and finally promised to take Nita with her to Lensky's two other concerts, for which no places were to be bad. The Baroness was boundlessly inexperienced. The day after the concert she left Vienna, leaving Nita under the Njikitjin's protection, who had promised to personally escort the young girl back to her mother.
The same day, Nita learned to know her great man at Madame Njikitjin's, who laughingly described to him the young girl's enthusiasm, and called her nothing but Senta. And Nita only looked at him with her clear, childish eyes, and could not say a word. He must have been of stone not to be touched by this pure and deep enthusiasm. He was not of stone. She pleased him--pleased him unusually. No one could be so charming as he if he wished.
With other great men, we have a stiff neck from looking up to their unapproachable loftiness. But nothing of the kind with him. The timidity which had at first oppressed her wholly vanished before the winning heartiness of his manner. How pleasantly he listened to her gay little anecdotes! Sometimes he leaned a little forward in the course of conversation, gazed into her eyes, then suddenly kissed her hand and laughed--laughed without her having the slightest suspicion of what had been so droll in her story. At coming and going he kissed her on the forehead; when he talked with her, he sometimes took her hand in his and stroked it kindly, paternally. She was proud of every little distinction. And while she felt a kind of reverence for him, Lensky's surrounders began to mock and laugh at her enthusiasm. She did not notice it at that time, but later, every significant look came back to her memory, and for a year sent the blood to her face.
When the day of farewell came, she was unspeakably sad and did not conceal it. Instead of calming her with a pleasant word, he smiled uneasily, constrainedly, at her emotion.
He promised to see her that evening at Njikitjin's, in the hotel. When he came, the Russian was not at home. It did not occur to Nita to ask herself if she should receive him under the circumstances. He was different from usual. He fell into brooding silence; now suddenly seized her hand, then freed it. He sprang up and walked uneasily about the room. Suddenly he sat down near her and took both her hands in his. Something in his face startled her and she drew them away. He seized them and kissed them. Then--then he said something which admitted of but one interpretation. He--to her!