As though stunned by a blow, Sina at once fell asleep, but woke early,
feeling utterly broken, and cold as a corpse. Her despair had never
slumbered, and for no single moment could she forget that which had
been done. In mute dejection she scrutinized every detail of her room,
as if to discover what since yesterday had suffered change. Yet, from
its corner, touched by morning light, the ikon looked down at her in
friendly wise. The windows, the floor, the furniture were unaltered,
and on the pillows of the adjoining bed lay the fair head of Dubova who
was still fast asleep. All was exactly the same as usual; only the
crumpled dress flung carelessly across a chair told its tale. The flush
on her face at waking soon gave place to an ashen pallor that was
heightened by her coal-black eyebrows. With the awful clearness of an
overwrought brain she rehearsed her experiences of the last few hours.
She saw herself walking through silent streets at sunrise and hostile
windows seemed watching her, while the few persons she met turned round
to look at her. On she went in the dawn-light, hampered by her long
skirts, and holding a little green plush bag, much as some criminal
might stagger homewards. The past night was to her as a night of
delirium. Something mad and strange and overwhelming had happened, yet
how or why she knew not. To have flung all shame aside, to have
forgotten her love for another man, it was this that to her appeared
incomprehensible.
Jaded and sick at heart, she rose, and noiselessly began to dress,
fearful lest Dubova should awake. Then she sat at the window, gazing
anxiously at the green and yellow foliage in the garden. Thoughts
whirled in her brain, thoughts hazy and confused as smoke driven by the
wind. Suddenly Dubova awoke.
"What? Up already? How extraordinary!" she exclaimed.
When Sina returned in the early morning, her friend had only drowsily
asked, "How did you get in such a mess?" and then had fallen asleep
again. Now that she noticed that something was wrong, she hurried
across to Sina, barefooted, and in her night-dress.
"What's the matter? Are you ill?" she asked sympathetically, as might
an elder sister.
Sina winced, as beneath a blow, yet, with a smile on her rosy lips, she
replied in a tone of forced gaiety: "Oh! dear no! Only, I hardly slept at all last night."
Thus was the first lie spoken that converted all her frank, proud
maidenhood to a memory. In its place there was now something false and
sullied. While Dubova was dressing herself, Sina glanced furtively at
her from time to time. Her friend seemed to her bright and pure, and
she herself as repulsive as a crushed reptile. So powerful was this
impression, that even the very part of the room where Dubova stood
appeared full of sunshine, while her own corner was steeped in gloom.
Sina remembered how she had always thought herself purer and more
beautiful than her friend, and the change that had come caused her
intense anguish.