But it was not until her return to Petrograd
in September that I told her that I loved her. Upon one of the first
autumn days, upon an evening, when the little green tree outside their
door was gold and there was a slip of an apricot moon, when the first
fires were lighted (Andrey Vassilievitch had English fireplaces),
sitting alone together in her little faded old-fashioned room, I told
her that I loved her. She listened very quietly as I talked, her eyes
on my face, grave, sad perhaps, and yet humorous, secure in her own
settled life but sharing also in the life of others. She watched me
rather as a mother watches her child.... I told her that it mattered
nothing the conditions that she put upon me; that so long as I saw her
and knew that she believed me to be her friend I asked for nothing.
She answered, still very quietly but putting her hand on mine, that
she had loved me from the first moment of our meeting. That she
wondered that yet once again love should have come into her life when
she had thought that that was all finished for her.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202