Lydia Constantinovna now had her feet on the carpet and her head was
bowed. Her eyes under their long lashes were blank and limpid, like
lakes amid reeds. Her hands were clasped round her knees.
"How was Sergius?" she enquired, without raising her head.
"Boorish, he has gone to bed," answered Mintz.
He was about to sit beside her, but she rose, arranged her hair
mechanically, and smiled faintly and tenderly--not at Mintz, but into
the empty space.
"To bed? Well, it is time. Good rest!" she said softly. "Ah, how the
perfume torments me. I feel giddy."
She went to the other end of the room, Mintz following her, and
halted on the threshold. In the stillness of the night the pattering
rain could be heard distinctly. Lydia Constantinovna leaned against
the white door, throwing back her head, and began to speak; avoiding
Mintz's eyes, she endeavoured to express herself simply and clearly,
but the words seemed dry as they fell from her lips:
"I am very tired, Mintz, I am going to bed at once. You go too.
Goodbye until tomorrow. We shall not meet again to-night. Do you
understand, Mintz? It is my wish."
Mintz stood still, his legs wide apart, his arms akimbo, his head
hanging. Then with a sad, submissive smile he answered in an
unexpectedly mild tone: "Very well, then, All right, I understand
you. It is quite all right.
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