does not want me, that he rejects me—but not a line for three days! How easy it is for him to wound, to insult a poor, defenceless girl, whose only fault is that she loves him! Oh, what I've suffered during these three days! Oh, dear! When I think that I was the first to go to him, that I humbled myself before him, cried, that I begged of him a little love! … and after that! Listen," she said, turning to me, and her black eyes flashed, "it isn't so! It can't be so; it isn't natural. Either you are mistaken or I; perhaps he has not received the letter? Perhaps he still knows nothing about it? How could any one—judge for yourself, tell me, for goodness' sake explain it to me, I can't understand it—how could any one behave with such barbarous coarseness as he has behaved to me? Not one word! Why, the lowest creature on earth is treated more compassionately. Perhaps he has heard something, perhaps some one has told him something about me," she cried, turning to me inquiringly: "What do you think?"
"Listen, Nastenka, I shall go to him tomorrow in your name."
"Yes?"
"I will question him about everything; I will tell him everything."
"Yes, yes?"
"You write a letter. Don't say no, Nastenka, don't say no! I will make him respect your action, he shall hear all about it, and if"
"No, my friend, no," she interrupted, "Enough! Not another word, not another line from me—enough! I don't know him; I don't love him any more. I will . . . forget him."
She could not go on.
"Calm yourself, calm yourself! Sit here, Nastenka," I said, making her sit down on the seat.
"I am calm. Don't trouble. It's nothing! It's only tears, they will soon dry. Why, do you imagine I shall do away with myself, that I shall throw myself into the river?"
My heart was full: I tried to speak, but I could not.
45
