went away: when we said all that I have told you, and had come to an understanding, then we came out here for a walk on this embankment. It was ten o'clock; we sat on this seat. I was not crying then; it was sweet to me to hear what he said. . . . And he said that he would come to us directly he arrived, and if I did not refuse him, then we would tell grandmother about it all. Now he is here, I know it, and yet he does not come!"
And again she burst into tears.
"Good God, can I do nothing to help you in your sorrow?" I cried, jumping up from the seat in utter despair. "Tell me, Nastenka, wouldn't it be possible for me to go to him?"
"Would that be possible?" she asked suddenly, raising her head.
"No, of course not," I said pulling myself up; "but I tell you what, write a letter."
"No, that's impossible, I can't do that," she answered with decision, bending her head and not looking at me.
"How impossible—why is it impossible?" I went on, clinging to my idea. "But, Nastenka, it depends what sort of letter; there are letters and letters and. . . . Ah, Nastenka, I am right; trust to me, trust to me, I will not give you bad advice. It can all be arranged! You took the first step—why not now?"
"I can't. I can't! It would seem as though I were forcing myself on him. . . ."
"Ah, my good little Nastenka," I said, hardly able to conceal a smile; "no, no, you have a right to, in fact, because he made you a promise. Besides, I can see from everything that he is a man of delicate feeling; that he behaved very well," I went on, more and more carried away by the logic of my own arguments and convictions. "How did he behave? He bound himself by a promise: he said that if he married at all he would marry no one but you; he gave you full liberty to refuse him at once. . . . Under such circumstances you may take the first step; you have the right; you are in the privileged position—if, for instance, you wanted to free him from his promise. . . ."
"Listen; how would you write?"
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