seeing them, the heat, the smell of the sea, and the continual
passing to and fro before him of idle, well-dressed, well-fed people,
made a new man of him; he told Anna Sergeyevna how beautiful she
was, how fascinating. He was impatiently passionate, he would not
move a step away from her, while she was often pensive and continually
urged him to confess that he did not respect her, did not love her
in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a common woman.
Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out of town,
to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a
success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful.

They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from
him, saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he
entreated his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna
Sergeyevna made haste to go.

"It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the
finger of destiny!"

She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole
day. When she had got into a compartment of the express, and when
the second bell had rung, she said:

"Let me look at you once more . . . look at you once again. That's
right."

She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her
face was quivering.

"I shall remember you . . . think of you," she said. "God be with