"In Pushkin the verse is somewhat different," I ventured.[J]
"I would have liked to be Pushkin's Tatiana," she continued, still lost in thought. "Tell me something," she cried suddenly, with vivacity.
But I could find nothing to say. I looked at her as she sat there, gentle and peaceful, surrounded with the clear sunshine. Everything about us glowed with happiness; the sky, the earth, the water. It seemed as if the very air was bathed in a splendor.
"Look, how beautiful!" I said, involuntarily lowering my voice.
"Yes, beautiful," she answered as gently, without looking at me. "If we were both birds, we would fly high up there—would soar. We would sink deep into that blue. But we are no birds."
"We may have wings though," I answered.
"How?"
"In time you will discover. There are feelings that swing us off from the earth. Don't fear; you will have wings."
"Have you had them then?"
"How shall I say? I believe that I have never flown till now."