... Yes, you are right, it is impossible not
to have faith."
Polunin went to her quickly, took her hands, then dropped them; his
eyes were very observant, his voice quiet and serious.
"Kseniya, you must not grieve, you must not."
"Do you love me?"
"As a woman--no, as a fellow-creature--I do," he answered firmly.
She smiled, dropped her eyes, then moved to the sofa, sat down and
arranged her dress, then smiled again.
"I want to be pure."
"And so you are!" Polunin sat down beside her, leaning forward, his
elbows on his knees.
They were silent.
Kseniya Ippolytovna said at last: "You have grown old, Polunin!"
"Yes, I have grown old. People do, but there is nothing terrible in
that when they have found what they sought for."
"Yes, when they have found it.... But what about now? Why do you say
that? Is it Alena?"
"Why ask? Although I am disillusioned, Kseniya, I go on chopping
firewood, heating the stove, living just to live. I read St. Francis
d'Assisi, think about him, and grieve that such a life as his may not
be lived again. I know he was absurd, but he had faith, And now
Alena--I love her, I shall love her for ever. I wish to feel God!"
Kseniya Ippolytovna looked at him curiously:
"Do you know what the baby-mice smelt like?"
"No, why do you ask?"
"They smelt like new-born babies--like human children! You have a
daughter, Natasha.
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