I laughed.

"It would be enough for friendship to be here once a month, but I
turn up oftener than once a week."

Saying this, I got up and walked from one end of the room to the
other. She too got up and walked away to the fireplace.

"What do you mean to say by that?" she said, raising her large,
clear eyes and looking at me.

I made no answer.

"What you say is not true," she went on, after a moment's thought.
"You only come here on account of Dmitri Petrovitch. Well, I am
very glad. One does not often see such friendships nowadays."

"Aha!" I thought, and, not knowing what to say, I asked: "Would you
care for a turn in the garden?"

I went out upon the verandah. Nervous shudders were running over
my head and I felt chilly with excitement. I was convinced now that
our conversation would be utterly trivial, and that there was nothing
particular we should be able to say to one another, but that, that
night, what I did not dare to dream of was bound to happen--that
it was bound to be that night or never.

"What lovely weather!" I said aloud.

"It makes absolutely no difference to me," she answered.