Since Vera’s departure Raisky had experienced the meaning of unmitigated solitude. He felt as if he were surrounded by a desert, now that he was deprived of the sight of her, although nature around him was radiant and smiling. Tatiana Markovna’s anxious solicitude, Marfinka’s charming rule, her songs, her lively chatter with the gay and youthful Vikentev, the arrival and departure of guests, the eccentricities of the freakish Paulina Karpovna—none of these things existed for him. He only saw that the lilac curtain was motionless, the blinds had been drawn down, and that Vera’s favourite bench remained empty.

He did not want to love Vera, and if he had wished it he ought still to resist, for Vera had denied him every hope; indeed her beauty seemed to have lost its power over him, and he was now drawn to her by a different attraction.

“What is Vera’s real nature?” he asked his aunt one day.

“You see for yourself. She recognises only her own understanding and her own will. She was born in my arms, and has spent her whole life with me, yet I do not know what is in her mind, what are her likes and dislikes. I do not force her, or worry her, so that she can hardly think herself unfortunate. You see for yourself that my girls live with me as free as the birds of the air.”

“You are right, Grandmother. It is not fear, or anxiety, or the power of authority that binds you to them, but the tenderest of home ties. They adore you, and so they ought to do, but it is the fruit of their upbringing. Why should worn-out conceptions of duty be pressed upon them, and why should they live like caged birds? Let them dip into the reservoir of life itself. A bird imprisoned in a cage loses the capacity for freedom, and, even if the door of his cage is opened, he will not take flight.”

“I have never tried to exercise restraint on Marfinka or Vera. Supposing a respectable, rich man of old and blameless family were to ask for Marfinka’s hand, and she refused it, do you think I should persuade her?”

“Well, Granny, I leave Marfinka to you, but do not attempt to do anything with Vera. You must not restrain her in any way, must leave her her freedom. One bird is born for the cage, another for freedom. Vera will be able to direct her own life.”

“Do I restrain or repress her? I am like the police inspector who only sees that there is an outward semblance of order; I do not penetrate below the surface unless my assistance is invited.”

“Tell me, Grandmother, what sort of a woman is this priest’s wife, and what are the links that bind her to Vera?”

“Natalie Ivanovna and Vera made friends at a boarding school. She is a good, modest woman.”

“Is she sensible? Possibly a woman of weight and character?”

“Oh no! She is not stupid, is fairly educated, a great reader, and fond of dress. The pope, who is much liked by the local landowner, is not poor, and lives in comfort on his own land. He is a sensible man, belongs to the younger generation, but he leads too worldly a life for the priesthood, as is the custom in landed society. He reads French books, and smokes, for instance; things that are unsuited to the priestly garb. Every glance of Veroshka’s, every mood of hers is sacred to Natalie Ivanovna; whatever she may say is wise and good. This suits Vera, who does not want a friend, but an obedient servant; that is why she loves the pope’s wife.”

“And Vera loves you too?” asked Raisky, who wanted to know if Vera loved anybody else except the pope’s wife.

“Yes, she loves me,” answered Tatiana Markovna with conviction, “but in her own fashion. She never shows it, and never will, though she loves me and would be ready to die for me.”

“And you love Vera?”

“Ah, how I love her!” she sighed, and tears stood in her eyes. “She does not know, but perhaps one day she may learn.”

“Have you noticed how thoughtful she has been for some time. Is she not in love?” he added in a half-whisper, but immediately regretted the question, which it was too late to withdraw. His aunt started back as if a stone had hit her.

“God forbid!” she cried, making the sign of the Cross. “This sorrow has been spared us. Do not disturb my peace, but confess, as you would to the priest, if you know anything.”

Raisky was annoyed with himself, and made an effort, partially successful, to pacify his aunt.

“I have not noticed anything more than you have. She would hardly be likely to say anything to me that she kept secret from you.”

“Yes, yes, it is true she will say nothing. The pope’s wife knows everything, but she would rather die than betray Vera’s secrets. Her own secrets she scatters for anyone to pick up, but not Vera’s.”

“With whom could she fall in love?” remarked Tatiana Markovna after a silence. “There is no one here.”

“No one?” interrupted Raisky quickly.

Tatiana Markovna shook her head, then went on after a while:—

“There might be the Forester. He is an excellent individual, and has shown an inclination, I notice. He would be certainly an admirable match for Vera, but....”

“Well?”

“She is so strange. Heaven knows how any one would dare, how any man would woo her. He is splendid—well-established and rich. The wood alone yields thousands.”

“Is the Forester young, educated, a man that counts?”

Vassilissa entered and announced Paulina Karpovna.

“The evil one himself has brought her,” grumbled Tatiana Markovna. “Show her in, and be quick with breakfast.”