She felt that she loved him, and that he loved her. This was the
essential thing; all else for her was of no importance whatever. Yet
now that her brother had spoken thus, in a tone of censure and
contempt, she seemed to stand on the verge of a precipice; that of
which they talked was horrible, and indeed irreparable, her happiness
was at an end; of her love for Riasantzeff there could be no thought
now.
Almost in tears himself, Yourii sought to comfort her, as he kissed her
and stroked her hair. Yet still she wept, bitterly, hopelessly.
"Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" she sobbed, just like a child.
There, in the dusk, she seemed so helpless, so pitiful, that Yourii
felt unspeakably grieved. Pale and confused, he ran into the house,
striking his head against the door, and brought her a glass of water,
half of which he spilt on the ground and over his hands.
"Oh! don't cry, Lialitschka! You mustn't cry like that! What is the
matter? Perhaps Anatole Pavlovitch is better than the rest, Lialia!" he
repeated in despair. Lialia, still sobbing, shook violently, and he
teeth rattled against the rim of the glass.
"What is the matter, miss?" asked the maid-servant in alarm, as she
appeared in the doorway. Lialia rose, and, leaning against the
balustrade, went trembling and in tears towards her room.
"My dear little mistress, tell me, what is it? Shall I call the master,
Yourii Nicolaijevitch?"
Nicolai Yegorovitch at that moment came out of his study, walking in
slow, measured fashion. He stopped short in the doorway, amazed at the
sight of Lialia.
"What has happened?"
"Oh! nothing! A mere trifle!" replied Yourii, with a forced laugh. "We
were talking about Riasantzeff. It's all nonsense!"
Nicolai Yegorovitch looked hard at him and suddenly his face wore a
look of extreme displeasure.
"What the devil have you been saying?" he exclaimed as, shrugging his
shoulders, he turned abruptly on his heel and withdrew.
Yourii flushed angrily, and would have made some insolent reply, but a
sudden sense of shame caused him to remain silent. Feeling irritated
with his father, and grieved for Lialia, while despising himself, he
went down the steps into the garden. A little frog, croaking beneath
his feet, burst like an acorn. He slipped, and with a cry of disgust
sprang aside. Mechanically he wiped his foot for a long while on the
wet grass, feeling a cold shiver down his back.
He frowned. Disgust mental and physical made him think that all things
were revolting and abominable. He groped his way to a seat, and sat
there, staring vacantly at the garden, seeing only broad black patches
amid the general gloom. Sad, dismal thoughts drifted through his brain.