“There is nothing remarkable here,” she said hastily, looking around as if something not intended for strange eyes might be lying about.
“Nothing remarkable, quite right. What book is that?”
He put out his hand for the book under her hand; she rapidly drew it away and put it behind her on the shelf.
“You hide it as you used to hide the currants in your mouth. But show it me.”
“Do you read books that may not be seen?” he said, laughingly as she shook her head.
“Heavens! how lovely she is!” he thought. And he wondered how such beauty could have lost its way in such an outlandish place. He wanted to touch some answering chord in her heart, wanted her to reveal something of her feelings, but his efforts only produced a greater coldness.
“Yes, but later Leonid Ivanovich took it over, and I was glad to be relieved of the charge.”
“Oh no! I read what I liked, and then surrendered the books.”
She looked out of the window as she answered: “A great many. I have really forgotten.”
She looked at him inquiringly before she said, “Does that mean that I play myself, or like to hear music?”
“I don’t play, but I like to hear music, but what music is there here?”
“But what are your particular tastes?” Again she looked at him inquiringly. “Do you like housekeeping, or needlework. Do you do embroidery?”
“No, Marfinka likes and understands all those things.”
“But what do you like? A book only occupies you for a short time. You say that you don’t do any needlework, but you must like something, flowers perhaps.”
“Flowers, yes, in the garden, but not in the house where they have to be tended. I love this corner of God’s earth, the Volga, the precipice, the forest and the garden--these are the things I love,” she said, looking contentedly at the prospect from the window.
“What ties bind you to this little place?”
She gave no answer, but her eyes wandered lovingly over the trees and the rising ground, and finally rested on the dazzling mirror of water.
“It is a beautiful place,” admitted Raisky, “but the view, the river bank, the hills, the forest--all these things would became tedious if they were not inhabited by living creatures which share our feelings and exchange ideas with us.”
“Ah!” she said, as if she had only just heard his remarks, “I don’t live alone; Grandmother, Marfinka....”