I passed through the town and walked straight ahead to the fields. A feeling of vexed disappointment filled my heart. I loaded myself with reproaches. Why did I not appreciate the motive that had induced this young girl to change the place of our meeting? Why did I not appreciate how hard it would be for her to go to this old woman's house? Why, finally, did I not stay away?

Alone with her in that dark, isolated room, I had had the courage to thrust her away, and to remonstrate with her; and, now her image pursued me, I asked her pardon—her pale face, her eyes timid and full of tears; her hair in disorder, flowing over her bended neck; the touch of her forehead as it rested upon my breast; all these remembrances made me beside myself, and I thought I still heard her murmuring, "I am yours!"

I reflected: I have obeyed the voice of my conscience.—But no? it was false! for, most certainly, I should never have wished in my heart for such a dÉnouement.—And, then, to be separated from her, to live without her, shall I have the strength?—"Fool! miserable fool that I am!" I cried angrily.

In the meantime night was approaching. I directed my hurried steps towards the dwelling of Annouchka.