"So that was it," I said to myself, and bit my lip. "But tell me," I asked Gagin, "now that our hearts are open, has really no one ever caught her fancy? Surely she must have seen many young men in Petersburg?"
"And they are all absolutely distasteful to her. No. Assja is seeking a hero—an entirely extraordinary man, or else an artistic shepherd among his flock. But enough of this gossip. I am detaining you," he added as he rose.
"Come," I said, "let us go back. I don't care to go home."
"And your work?"
I made no reply. Gagin laughed good-naturedly, and we returned to L——. As the well-known vineyard and the little white house on the hillside came in sight, my heart was warmed in a curious way—yes, that was it—warmed and soothed as if, unknown to me, some one had poured some healing drops there. Gagin's story had made me cheerful.
Assja met us at the threshold. I had expected to find her still laughing, but she stepped forward to us, pale, silent, and with eyes down cast.
"Here he is again," Gagin said to her, "and be sure of this: it was his own wish to come back."
Assja looked at me inquiringly. I held out my hand to her, and this time I grasped tightly her cold and slender fingers. I felt deep pity for her. Now I understood much that had before disturbed me in her: her inner restlessness, her offensive manner, her endeavor to show herself other than she was—all was clear to me. I had had a glimpse into this soul. A constant weight oppressed it. Fearfully the untrained will fought and struggled, yet her whole being was striving after truth. Now I understood why this singular girl had attracted me: it was not only the charm which invested her whole body; it was her soul which drew me.
Gagin began to fumble among his sketches. I asked Assja to come for a walk with me through the vineyard. She gave a ready, almost humble assent. We climbed the hill about half way, and stopped on a broad plateau.
"And you felt no ennui without us?" Assja began.