one's coat-sleeve, one could see traces of tiny drops like diminutive
beads, but even these were soon gone. It seemed there had never been
a breath of wind in the world. Every sound moved not, but was shed
around in the stillness. In the distance was a faint thickening of
whitish mist; in the air there was a scent of mignonette and white
acacia flowers.

In the streets the shops were not open yet, but there were already
some people walking about; occasionally a solitary carriage rumbled
along ... there was no one walking in the garden. A gardener was in a
leisurely way scraping the path with a spade, and a decrepit old woman
in a black woollen cloak was hobbling across the garden walk. Sanin
could not for one instant mistake this poor old creature for Gemma;
and yet his heart leaped, and he watched attentively the retreating
patch of black.

Seven! chimed the clock on the tower. Sanin stood still. Was it
possible she would not come? A shiver of cold suddenly ran through
his limbs. The same shiver came again an instant later, but from a
different cause. Sanin heard behind him light footsteps, the light
rustle of a woman's dress.... He turned round: she!

Gemma was coming up behind him along the path. She was wearing a grey
cape and a small dark hat. She glanced at Sanin, turned her head away,
and catching him up, passed rapidly by him.

'Gemma,' he articulated, hardly audibly.

She gave him a little nod, and continued to walk on in front. He
followed her.