Two days later she met me in the park. I tried to step aside, but she stopped me.
“Give me your hand”--she said to me, with her former affection.--“It is a long time since you and I have had a chat.”
I looked at her; her eyes were beaming softly and her face was smiling, as though athwart a mist.
“No, everything has passed off now,”--she replied, breaking off a small, red rose.--“I am a little tired, but that will pass off also.”
“And will you be once more the same as you used to be?”--I queried.
Zinaída raised the rose to her face, and it seemed to me as though the reflection of the brilliant petals fell upon her cheeks.--“Have I changed?”--she asked me.
“Yes, you have changed,”--I replied in a low voice.
“I was cold toward you,--I know that,”--began Zinaída;--“but you must not pay any heed to that.... I could not do otherwise.... Come, what’s the use of talking about that?”
“You do not want me to love you--that’s what!” I exclaimed gloomily, with involuntary impetuosity.
“Let us be friends,--that is how!”--Zinaída allowed me to smell of the rose.--“Listen; I am much older than you, you know--I might be your aunt, really; well, if not your aunt, then your elder sister. While you....”
“I am a child to you,”--I interrupted her.
“Well, yes, you are a child, but a dear, good, clever child, of whom I am very fond. Do you know what? I will appoint you to the post of my page from this day forth; and you are not to forget that pages must not be separated from their mistress. Here is a token of your new dignity for you,”--she added, sticking the rose into the button-hole of my round-jacket; “a token of our favour toward you.”
“I have received many favours from you in the past,”--I murmured.
“Ah!”--said Zinaída, and darting a sidelong glance at me.--“What a memory you have! Well? And I am ready now also....”
And bending toward me, she imprinted on my brow a pure, calm kiss.
I only stared at her--but she turned away and, saying,--“Follow me, my page,”--walked to the wing. I followed her--and was in a constant state of bewilderment.--“Is it possible,”--I thought,--“that this gentle, sensible young girl is that same Zinaída whom I used to know?”--And her very walk seemed to me more quiet, her whole figure more majestic, more graceful....