He began hotly kissing her slender, rosy hand. Elena did not draw it
away from his lips, and with a kind of childish delight, with smiling
curiosity, watched how he covered with kisses, first the palm, then
the fingers. . . .

All at once she blushed and hid her face upon his breast.

He lifted her head tenderly and looked steadily into her eyes.
'Welcome, then, my wife, before God and men!'




XIX


An hour later, Elena, with her hat in one hand, her cape in the other,
walked slowly into the drawing-room of the villa. Her hair was in
slight disorder; on each cheek was to be seen a small bright spot of
colour, the smile would not leave her lips, her eyes were nearly
shutting and half hidden under the lids; they, too, were smiling.
She could scarcely move for weariness, and this weariness was pleasant
to her; everything, indeed, was pleasant to her. Everything seemed
sweet and friendly to her. Uvar Ivanovitch was sitting at the window;
she went up to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, stretched a little,
and involuntarily, as it seemed, she laughed.

'What is it?' he inquired, astonished.