fingers on to the pillow. Suddenly she raised herself and sat up,
something strange was passing in her, her face changed, her wet eyes
grew dry and shining, her brows were bent and her lips compressed.
Another half-hour passed. Elena, for the last time, strained her ears
to listen: was not that the familiar voice floating up to her? She
got up, put on her hat and gloves, threw a cape over her shoulders,
and, slipping unnoticed out of the house, she went with swift steps
along the road leading to Bersenyev's lodging.





XVIII


Elena walked with her head bent and her eyes fixed straight before
her. She feared nothing, she considered nothing; she wanted to see
Insarov once more. She went on, not noticing that the sun had long ago
disappeared behind heavy black clouds, that the wind was roaring by
gusts in the trees and blowing her dress about her, that the dust had
suddenly risen and was flying in a cloud along the road. . . . Large
drops of rain were falling, she did not even notice it; but it fell
faster and heavier, there were flashes of lightning and peals of
thunder. Elena stood still looking round. . . . Fortunately for her,
there was a little old broken-down chapel that had been built over a
disused well not far from the place where she was overtaken by the
storm. She ran to it and got under the low roof. The rain fell in
torrents; the sky was completely overcast. In dumb despair Elena
stared at the thick network of fast-falling drops. Her last hope of