you everything. . . . Yes, he is a noble man.'

Insarov looked steadily at Elena. 'He is in love with you, isn't he?'

Elena dropped her eyes. 'He did love me,' she said in an undertone.

Insarov pressed her hand warmly. 'Oh you Russians,' he said, 'you have
hearts of pure gold! And he, he has been waiting on me, he has not
slept at night. And you, you, my angel. . . . No reproaches, no
hesitations . . . and all this for me, for me----'

'Yes, yes, all for you, because they love you, Ah, Dmitri! How strange
it is! I think I have talked to you of it before, but it doesn't
matter, I like to repeat it, and you will like to hear it. When I saw
you the first time----'

'Why are there tears in your eyes?' Insarov interrupted her.

'Tears? Are there?' She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. 'Oh,
what a silly boy! He doesn't know yet that people weep from
happiness. I wanted to tell you: when I saw you the first time, I saw
nothing special in you, really. I remember, Shubin struck me much more
at first, though I never loved him, and as for Andrei Petrovitch--oh,
there was a moment when I thought: isn't this he? And with you there
was nothing of that sort; but afterwards--afterwards--you took my
heart by storm!'

'Have pity on me,' began Insarov. He tried to get up, but dropped down
on to the sofa again at once.