Part 42

“No more gallantries!” she said laughing. Mariana always laughed when her hand was kissed. “I’ve done something very naughty and must ask you to forgive me.”

“What have you done?”

“Well, when you were away, I went into your room and saw a copy-book of verses lying on your table” (Nejdanov shuddered; he remembered having left it there), “and I must confess to you that I couldn’t overcome my curiosity and read the contents. Are they your verses?”

“Yes, they are. And do you know, Mariana, that one of the strongest proofs that I care for you and have the fullest confidence in you is that I am hardly angry at what you have done?”

“Hardly! Then you are just a tiny bit. I’m so glad you call me Mariana. I can’t call you Nejdanov, so I shall call you Alexai. There is a poem which begins, ‘When I die, dear friend, remember,’ is that also yours?”

“Yes. Only please don’t talk about this any more.... Don’t torture me.”

Mariana shook her head.

“It’s a very sad poem.... I hope you wrote it before we became intimate. The verses are good though ... as far as I can judge. I think you have the making of a literary man in you, but you have chosen a better and higher calling than literature. It was good to do that kind of work when it was impossible to do anything else.”

Nejdanov looked at her quickly.

“Do you think so? I agree with you. Better ruin there, than success here.”

Mariana stood up with difficulty.

“Yes, my dear, you are right!” she exclaimed, her whole face beaming with triumph and emotion, “you are right! But perhaps it may not mean ruin for us yet. We shall succeed, you will see; we’ll be useful, our life won’t be wasted. We’ll go among the people.... Do you know any sort of handicraft? No? Never mind, we’ll work just the same. We’ll bring them, our brothers, everything that we know.... If necessary, I can cook, wash, sew.... You’ll see, you’ll see.... And there won’t be any kind of merit in it, only happiness, happiness—”

Mariana ceased and fixed her eyes eagerly in the distance, not that which lay before her, but another distance as yet unknown to her, which she seemed to see.... She was all aglow.

Nejdanov bent down to her waist.

“Oh, Mariana!” he whispered. “I am not worthy of you!”

She trembled all over.

“It’s time to go home!” she exclaimed, “or Valentina Mihailovna will be looking for us again. However, I think she’s given me up as a bad job. I’m quite a black sheep in her eyes.”

Mariana pronounced the last words with such a bright joyful expression that Nejdanov could not help laughing as he looked at her and repeating, “black sheep!”

“She is awfully hurt,” Mariana went on, “that you are not at her feet. But that is nothing. The most important thing is that I can’t stay here any longer. I must run away.”

“Run away?” Nejdanov asked.

“Yes.... You are not going to stay here, are you? We’ll go away together.... We must work together.... You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

“To the ends of the earth!” Nejdanov exclaimed, his voice ringing with sudden emotion in a transport of gratitude. “To the ends of the earth!” At that moment he would have gone with her wherever she wanted, without so much as looking back.

Mariana understood him and gave a gentle, blissful sigh.

“Then take my hand, dearest—only don’t kiss it—press it firmly, like a comrade, like a friend—like this!”

They walked home together, pensive, happy. The young grass caressed their feet, the young leaves rustled about them, patches of light and shade played over their garments—and they both smiled at the wild play of the light, at the merry gusts of wind, at the fresh, sparkling leaves, at their own youth, and at one another.

XXIII

The dawn was already approaching on the night after Golushkin’s dinner when Solomin, after a brisk walk of about five miles, knocked at the gate in the high wall surrounding the factory. The watchman let him in at once and, followed by three house-dogs wagging their tails with great delight, accompanied him respectfully to his own dwelling. He seemed to be very pleased that the chief had got back safely.

“How did you manage to get here at night, Vassily Fedotitch? We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”