Some time after this first interview, Foedor came to take leave of the
general. His regiment was to form part of a contingent that
Field-Marshal Souvarow was taking to Italy, and Foedor was about to die,
or show himself worthy of the noble patron who had helped him to a
career.

This time, whether on account of the elegant uniform that heightened
Foedor's natural good looks, or because his imminent departure, glowing
with hope and enthusiasm, lent a romantic interest to the young man,
Vaninka was astonished at the marvellous change in him, and deigned, at
her father's request, to give him her hand when he left. This was more
than Foedor had dared to hope. He dropped upon his knee, as though in
the presence of a queen, and took Vaninka's between his own trembling
hands, scarcely daring to touch it with his lips. Light though the kiss
had been, Vaninka started as though she had been burnt; she felt a thrill
run through her, and she blushed violently. She withdrew her hand so
quickly, that Foedor, fearing this adieu, respectful though it was, had
offended her, remained on his knees, and clasping his hands, raised his
eyes with such an expression of fear in them, that Vaninka, forgetting
her hauteur, reassured him with a smile. Foedor rose, his heart filled
with inexplicable joy, and without being able to say what had caused this
feeling, he only knew that it had made him absolutely happy, so that,
although he was just about to leave Vaninka, he had never felt greater
happiness in his life.

The young man left dreaming golden dreams; for his future, be it gloomy
or bright, was to be envied. If it ended in a soldier's grave, he
believed he had seen in Vaninka's eyes that she would mourn him; if his
future was glorious, glory would bring him back to St. Petersburg in