Not an hour longer than was necessary to arrange her affairs would Anna consent to remain, and, as always, the mother had obeyed her daughter's command. But at the last moment, when she and Anna stood in the vestibule, she, so to speak, broke loose from the chain. "I--I have forgotten something--I must get something." With these words she rushes up the stairs, stumbling, treading on her dress at every step, and knocks at Mascha's door.
"What do you want?" calls out Lensky, harshly, while he comes out to her.
"I would like to see Mascha. I--I would like to give her a kiss before I go," murmured the old woman, and tears are on her wrinkled cheeks. "She was a good child--always very good to me. Please--please let me in to her."
He steps back, lets her in. She bends over the bed, over the girl glowing and trembling with fever. "Maschenka, good-by, my little soul. I love you. I will always love you," murmured she, and stroked the child and wished to kiss her; but Maschenka hid her face in the pillows, and half mad with shame, repulsed her aunt with an impatient shrug of her shoulders, and suppressed weeping.
"God keep you, Maschenka!" murmured the old woman.
"What shall he keep?" cried out Lensky, pointing to the bed, with horrible bitterness. Then, seizing her roughly by her thin arm, he pushed her out of the room.
Now she has gone; the house has been empty for an hour. He sits near Mascha's bed as he has sat there since yesterday, and she lies there silently, with her face to the wall. It is eight o'clock. The front door bell rings--rings again. It is so long before the door is opened. Who may it be? The kitchen maid knocks at the door.
"I told her that, but she would not be denied; she desires to see monsieur. It is about something very important, she said."
"No, she would not; but she is certainly a distinguished lady."
"So! And she would not be denied." He draws down his mouth, scornfully. "Where is she waiting?"
"Well, stay here until I come back. Do not leave the room an instant! Do you hear? I will be back immediately."
With an angry, repellent word on his lips, he enters the drawing-room, where the chairs are disarranged and the dust lies untouched on the furniture.
A tall, slender figure comes to meet him, quickly, and at the same time hesitatingly, evidently urged forward by hearty compassion, and yet held back by that oppressing timidity and reverence with which noble natures approach a great pain. Now he sees her more distinctly, starts. "You here?" he cries out. "What do you wish?"