Elena was on the point of stopping him, but after a moment's thought
she too said:

'Good-bye.'

Shubin went out of the courtyard. At a short distance from the
Stahov's house he was met by Bersenyev. He was walking with hurried
steps, his head bent and his hat pushed back on his neck.

'Andrei Petrovitch!' cried Shubin.

He stopped.

'Go on, go on,' continued Shubin, 'I only shouted, I won't detain
you--and you'd better slip straight into the garden--you'll find
Elena there, I fancy she's waiting for you . . . she's waiting for
some one anyway. . . . Do you understand the force of those words:
she is waiting! And do you know, my dear boy, an astonishing
circumstance? Imagine, it's two years now that I have been living in
the same house with her, I'm in love with her, and it's only just
now, this minute, that I've, not understood, but really seen her. I
have seen her and I lifted up my hands in amazement. Don't look at me,
please, with that sham sarcastic smile, which does not suit your sober
features. Well, now, I suppose you want to remind me of Annushka. What
of it? I don't deny it. Annushkas are on my poor level. And long life
to all Annushkas and Zoyas and even Augustina Christianovnas! You go
to Elena now, and I will make my way to--Annushka, you fancy? No, my
dear fellow, worse than that; to Prince Tchikurasov. He is a Maecenas
of a Kazan-Tartar stock, after the style of Volgin. Do you see this