could be clearly discerned in the half-clear, shadowless twilight.
Sanin walked down the street to the end ... He did not want to go home
at once; he felt a desire to wander about a little in the fresh air.
He turned back and had hardly got on a level with the house, where was
the Rosellis' shop, when one of the windows looking out on the street,
suddenly creaked and opened; in its square of blackness--there was
no light in the room--appeared a woman's figure, and he heard his
name--'Monsieur Dimitri!'

He rushed at once up to the window ... Gemma! She was leaning with her
elbows on the window-sill, bending forward.

'Monsieur Dimitri,' she began in a cautious voice, 'I have been
wanting all day long to give you something ... but I could not make
up my mind to; and just now, seeing you, quite unexpectedly again, I
thought that it seems it is fated' ...

Gemma was forced to stop at this word. She could not go on; something
extraordinary happened at that instant.

All of a sudden, in the midst of the profound stillness, over the
perfectly unclouded sky, there blew such a violent blast of wind, that
the very earth seemed shaking underfoot, the delicate starlight seemed
quivering and trembling, the air went round in a whirlwind. The wind,
not cold, but hot, almost sultry, smote against the trees, the roof
of the house, its walls, and the street; it instantaneously snatched
off Sanin's hat, crumpled up and tangled Gemma's curls. Sanin's head
was on a level with the window-sill; he could not help clinging close
to it, and Gemma clutched hold of his shoulders with both hands, and
pressed her bosom against his head. The roar, the din, and the rattle