Lialia wept in her room for such a long while that at last, her face
buried in the pillows, she fell asleep. She woke next morning with
aching head and swollen eyes, her first thought being that she must not
cry, as Riasantzeff, who was coming to lunch, would be shocked to see
her looking so plain. Then, suddenly, she recollected that all was over
between them, and a sense of bitter pain and burning love caused her to
weep afresh.
"How base, how horrible!" she murmured, striving to keep back her
tears. "And why? Why?" she repeated, as infinite grief for love that
was lost seemed to overwhelm her. It was revolting to think that
Riasantzeff had always lied to her in such a facile, heartless way.
"And not only he, but all the others lied, too," she thought. "They all
of them professed to be so delighted at our marriage, and said that he
was such a good, honest fellow! Well, no, they didn't actually lie
about it, but they simply didn't think it was wrong. How hateful of
them!"
Thus all those who surrounded her seemed odious, evil persons. She
leant her forehead against the window-pane and through her tears, gazed
at the garden. It was gloomy, there; and large raindrops beat
incessantly against the panes, so that Lialia could not tell if it were
these or her tears which hid the garden from her view. The trees looked
sad and forlorn, their pale, dripping leaves and black boughs faintly
discernible amid the general downpour that converted the lawn into a
muddy swamp.
And Lialia's whole life seemed to her utterly unhappy; the future was
hopeless, the past all dark.
When the maid-servant came to call her to breakfast, Lialia, though she
heard the words, failed to understand their meaning. Afterwards, at
table, she felt confused when her father spoke to her. It was as if he
spoke with special pity in his voice; no doubt, every one knew by this
time how abominably false to her the beloved one had been. She hastily
returned to her room and once more sat down and gazed at the grey,
dreary garden.
"Why should he be so false? Why should he have hurt me like this? Is it
that he does not love me? No, Tolia loves me, and I love him. Well,
then, what is wrong? Why it's this; he's deceived me; he's been making
love to all sorts of nasty women. I wonder if they loved him as I love
him?" she asked herself, naively, ardently. "Oh! how silly I am, to be
sure! What's the good of worrying about that? He has been false to me,
and everything now is at an end. Oh! how perfectly miserable I am! Yes,
I ought to worry about it! He was false to me! At least, he might have
confessed it to me! But he didn't! Oh! it's abominable! Kissing a lot
of other women, and perhaps, even ... It's awful. Oh I I'm so
wretched!"