He laughed, or sometimes simply looked at his companion, or he
would reply in his bad halting Russian with some jest at Semyonov's
expense.
Finally, to end this business, if ever a man were affected to the
heart by the loss of a friend or a lover, Semyonov was that man. He
was a man too strong in himself and too contemptuous of weakness to
show to all the world his hurt. I myself might have seen nothing had I
not always before me the memory of that vision of his face between the
trees. But from that I had proceeded--
It was, I suppose, the first time in his life that the fulfilment of
his desire had been denied him. Had Marie Ivanovna lived, and had he
attained with her his complete satisfaction, he would have tired of
her perhaps as he had tired of many others, and have remained only the
stronger cynic. But she had eluded him, eluded him at the very moment
of her freshness and happiness and triumph. What defeat to his proud
spirit was working now in him? What longing? What fierce determination
to secure even now his ends? The change that I fancied in him was
perhaps no more than his bracing of his strength and courage to face
new conditions.
Pages:
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454