... The little man had not
given me much of his company during these last weeks. I fancy that
since that night at the battle of S---- when he had revealed his
terror he had been shy of me although, God knows, he had no need to
be. He never forgot if any one had seen him in an unfortunate
position, and, although he bore me no grudge, he was nervous and
embarrassed with me. It happened, however, that during this same week
of which I have been speaking I had a conversation with him. I was
standing alone by the Cross watching a long trail of wagons cross the
bridge far beneath me, watching too a high bank of black cloud that
was passing away from the sky above the forest, blown by a wind that
rolled the surface of the river into silver. He too had come to look
at the view and was surprised and disturbed at finding me there. Of
course he was exaggerated in expressions of pleasure: "Why, Ivan
Andreievitch, this is delightful!" he cried. "If I only had known we
might have walked here together!"
We sat down on the stone seat.
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