The Precipice Part 22

"It is true that you rarely talk to me, but you look at me in such a wild and extraordinary fas.h.i.+on that it const.i.tutes a kind of pursuit.

And that is not all; you quietly follow my steps. You get up earlier than I do, and wait for me to wake, draw my curtains back, and open the window; whatever way I take in the park, and wherever I sit down, I must meet you."

"Very rarely."

"Three or four times a week. It would not be often and would not annoy me, quite the reverse, if it occurred without intention. But in your eyes and steps I see only one thing, the continual effort to give me no peace, to master my every glance, word and thought."

He was amazed at her boldness and independence, at the freedom of her speech. He saw before him, as he imagined, the little girl who had nervously concealed herself from him for fear that her egoism might suffer through the inequality of her brains, her ideas and her education.

This was a new figure, a new Vera.

"What if all this exists only in your imagination?" he said undecidedly.

"Don't lie to me," she interrupted. "If you are successful in observing my every footstep, my every moment, at least permit me to be conscious of the discomfort of such observation. I tell you plainly that it oppresses me; it is slavery; I feel like a prisoner."

"What do you ask of me?"

"My freedom."

"Freedom--I am your chevalier--therefore...."

"Therefore you will not leave a poor girl room to breathe. Tell me, what reason have I given you to regard me differently from any other girl?"

"Beauty adores admiration; it is her right."

"Beauty has also a right to esteem and freedom. Is it an apple hanging on the other side of the hedge, that every pa.s.ser-by can s.n.a.t.c.h at?"

"Don't agitate yourself, Vera!" he begged, taking her hands. "I confess my guilt. I am an artist, have a susceptible temperament, and perhaps abandoned myself too much to my impressions. Then I am no stranger. Let us be reconciled, Vera. Tell me your wishes, and they shall be sacredly fulfilled. I will do what pleases you, will avoid what offends you, in order to deserve your friends.h.i.+p."

"I told you from the beginning, you remember, how you could show me your sympathy, by not observing me, by letting me go my way and taking no notice of me. Then I will come of myself, and we will fix the hours that we will spend together, reading or walking."

"You ask me, Vera, to be utterly indifferent to you?"

"Yes."

"Not to notice how lovely you are? To look at you as if you were Grandmother. But even if I adore your beauty in silence from a distance, you would know it, and can you forbid me that? Pa.s.sion may melt the surface and there may steal into your heart an affection for me. Don't let me leave you without any hope. Can you not give me any?"

"I cannot!"

"How can you tell? There may come a time."

"No, Cousin, never."

Unmanned by terror, he collected his strength to say breathlessly:

"You are no longer free? You love?"

She knit her brow and looked down on the Volga.

"And is there any sin if I do? Will you not permit it, Cousin?" she asked ironically.

"I! I, who bring you the lofty philosophy of freedom, how should I not permit you to love. Love independently of everybody, conceal nothing, fear neither Granny nor anyone else. The dawn of freedom is red in the sky, and shall woman alone be enslaved? You love. Say so boldly, for pa.s.sion is happiness, and allow others at least to envy you."

"I concede no one the right to call me to account; I am free."

"But you are afraid of Grandmother."

"I am afraid of no one. Grandmother knows it, and respects my freedom.

And my wish is that you should follow her example. That is all I wanted to say," she concluded as she rose from the bench.

"Yes, Vera, now I understand, and am in accord with you," he replied, rising also. "Here is my hand on it, that from to-day you will neither hear nor notice my presence."

She gave her hand, but drew it rapidly back as he pressed it to his lips.

"We will see," she said. "But if you don't keep your word, we will see--"

"Say all you have to say, Vera, or my head will go to pieces."

Vera looked long at the prospect before her before she ended with decision:

"Then however dearly I love this place, I will leave it."

"To go where?"

"G.o.d's world is wide. Au revoir, Cousin!"

A few days later Raisky got up about five o'clock. The sun was already full on the horizon, a wholesome freshness rose from garden and park, flowers breathed a deeper perfume, and the dew glittered on the gra.s.s.

He dressed quickly and went out into the garden, when he suddenly met Vera.

"It is not intentional, not intentional, I swear," he stammered in his first surprise.

They both laughed. She picked a flower, threw it to him, and gave him her hand; and in reply to the kiss he gave she kissed him on the forehead.

"It was not intentional, Vera," he repeated. "You see yourself."

"I see you are good and kind."

"Generous," he added.

"We have not got to generosity yet," she said laughing, and took his arm.

"Let us go for a walk; it's a lovely morning."

He felt unspeakably happy.

"What coat are you wearing?" she asked in surprise as they walked. "It is not yours."

"Ah, it is Mark's."

"Is he here? How did you come by his coat?"