her hands. She hastily caught it before it dropped on the path.

'Ah, believe me! believe what I wrote to you!' cried Sanin; all his
timidity suddenly vanished, he spoke with heat; 'if there is truth
on earth--sacred, absolute truth--it's that I love, love you
passionately, Gemma.'

She flung him a sideway, momentary glance, and again almost dropped
the parasol.

'Believe me! believe me!' he repeated. He besought her, held out his
hands to her, and did not dare to touch her. 'What do you want me to
do ... to convince you?'

She glanced at him again.

'Tell me, Monsieur Dimitri,' she began; 'the day before yesterday,
when you came to talk to me, you did not, I imagine, know then ... did
not feel ...'

'I felt it,' Sanin broke in; 'but I did not know it. I have loved you
from the very instant I saw you; but I did not realise at once what
you had become to me! And besides, I heard that you were solemnly
betrothed.... As far as your mother's request is concerned--in the
first place, how could I refuse?--and secondly, I think I carried out
her request in such a way that you could guess....'

They heard a heavy tread, and a rather stout gentleman with a knapsack
over his shoulder, apparently a foreigner, emerged from behind the
clump, and staring, with the unceremoniousness of a tourist, at the