She became silent again, and bending over her work seemed so absorbed in it that the young man had not the courage to pursue his questions.
“Strange,” he muttered; “one might suppose that you had deliberately planned the entire course of your life.”
“Why should that seem strange, Gavrìlo Petròvitch?” replied the young girl gently. “Probably even Illyà Ivànovitch [that was the cadet’s name] has plans for the future, and he is younger than I.”
“You are right,” remarked the cadet, flattered by this supposition. “Not long ago I read the biography of N——. He too had definite plans for his life. He married at twenty, and was a commander at twenty-five.”
The student laughed sarcastically, and the young girl blushed.
“You see,” she said a moment later, in the same quiet tone, “every one plans his own career.”
No one replied, and a thoughtful silence fell upon the young people,—a silence beneath which a certain awkwardness was evident. They were all aware that the conversation had become personal; and the rustle of the darkening and seemingly displeased old garden was all the sound they heard.
IV.
These conversations and discussions, this buoyant current of youthful life charged with its questions, hopes, expectations, and opinions, came rushing like a passionate storm upon the blind youth. At first he listened to them with a look of surprise, but it was not long before he found that the stream rushed along paying no heed to him. No questions were asked him, neither was he invited to give his opinion; and it soon became evident to him that he stood apart in a solitude, the sadder since brought into contrast with the present wide-awake life of the mansion. Nevertheless he listened to all this that was so new to him, and his contracted brow and pallid face bore witness to his intense interest. Yet this feeling was tinged with gloom; his brain was swarming with bitter thoughts.