“Ah!” she suddenly cried. “So, if you forgot to tell her, and yet knew yourself that I would be here, so then what did you come here for?”
I raised my head. There was neither mockery nor wrath in her face, there was only her bright, cheerful smile and some sort of additional mischievousness in her expression—her perpetual expression, however—an almost childlike mischievousness. “There, you see, I’ve caught you out. Well, what are you going to say now?” her whole face all but said.
I didn’t want to answer, and again looked down. The silence lasted for about half a minute.
“Are you just coming from
“I’m just coming from Anna Andreevna, and I wasn’t at Prince Nikolai Ivanovich’s at all . . . and you knew that,” I suddenly added.
“Did anything happen to you at Anna Andreevna’s?”
“That is, since I now have such a crazy look? No, I had a crazy look even before Anna Andreevna’s.”
“And you didn’t get smarter at her place?”
“No, I didn’t. Besides, I heard there that you were going to marry Baron Bjoring.”
“Did she tell you that?” she suddenly became interested.
“No, I told her that, and I heard Nashchokin say it to Prince Sergei Petrovich today when he came to visit.”
I still wouldn’t raise my eyes to her; to look at her meant to be showered with light, joy, happiness, and I didn’t want to be happy. The sting of indignation pierced my heart, and in a single instant I made a tremendous decision. Then I suddenly began to speak, I scarcely remember what about. I was breathless and mumbled somehow, but now I looked boldly at her. My heart was pounding. I began talking about something totally unrelated, though maybe it made sense. At first she listened with her steady, patient smile, which never left her face, but, little by little, astonishment and then even alarm flashed in her intent gaze. Her smile still didn’t leave her, but the smile, too, as if trembled at times.
“What’s the matter?” I suddenly asked, noticing that she was all atremble.
“I’m afraid of you,” she replied almost anxiously.
“Why don’t you leave? Look, since Tatyana Pavlovna isn’t here now, and you knew she wouldn’t be, doesn’t that mean you should get up and leave?”
“I wanted to wait, but now . . . in fact . . .”
She made as if to rise.
“No, no, sit down,” I stopped her. “There, you just trembled again, but you smile even when you’re afraid . . . You always have a smile. There, now you’re smiling completely . . .”
“Are you raving?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid . . .” she whispered again.
“Of what?”
“That you’ll . . . start breaking down the walls . . .” She smiled again, but this time indeed timidly.
“I can’t bear your smile! . . .”
And I started talking again. It was just as if I was flying. As if something was pushing me. I had never, never talked with her like that, but always timidly. I was terribly timid now, too, but I went on talking; I remember I began talking about her face.
