His voice is warmer, but she steps back from him.
"I understand you," he murmurs. "Go!"
She goes a few steps toward the door; then she suddenly turns, goes up to him, and reaches him her hand.
He looks her full in the eyes. "May I?" he asks.
As she nods affirmatively, he presses her hand, but not to his lips, but lets it sink. He kneels down before the young girl, and kisses the hem of her dress. A wonderfully relieved feeling has come over him. It seems to him that he is freed from a burden--a burden of oppressive scorn of mankind, which, with a breath of relief, he has laid down at the feet of this young, pure, warm-hearted being.
"You are a saint," he murmured. "God pay you my debt!"
Thus they part.
The rescue is accomplished; Mascha is saved.
For a while Lensky remains alone in the garden, then he goes in the house. Fear of disturbing his daughter in her happiness, longing to rejoice in the sight of this happiness, alike agitate him.
From the drawing-room sound voices--very softly, interrupted with long pauses.