into the white sky not yet lit by the sun, she seemed to Volodya
captivating, magnificent. . . . Fascinated, trembling all over, and
remembering with relish how he had held that exquisite body in his
arms in the arbour, he handed her the bottle and said:

"How wonderful you are!"

"What?"

She came into the room.

"What?" she asked, smiling.

He was silent and looked at her, then, just as in the arbour, he
took her hand, and she looked at him with a smile and waited for
what would happen next.

"I love you," he whispered.

She left off smiling, thought a minute, and said:

"Wait a little; I think somebody is coming. Oh, these schoolboys!"
she said in an undertone, going to the door and peeping out into
the passage. "No, there is no one to be seen. . . ."

She came back.

Then it seemed to Volodya that the room, Nyuta, the sunrise and
himself--all melted together in one sensation of acute, extraordinary,
incredible bliss, for which one might give up one's whole life and