RUDIN
from a Russian poet:—
‘And till his gloomy lifetime’s close
Nor reason nor experience proud
Will crush nor crumple Destiny’s
Ensanguined forget-me-nots.’
Alexandra Pavlovna kept looking uneasily at her brother, but she did not worry him with questions. A carriage drew up at the steps.
‘Ah!’ she thought, ‘Lezhnyov, thank goodness!’
A servant came in and announced the arrival of Rudin.
Volintsev flung his book on the floor, and raised his head. ‘Who has come?’ he asked.
‘Rudin, Dmitri Nikolaitch,’ repeated the man. Volintsev got up.
‘Ask him in,’ he said, ‘and you, sister,’ he added, turning to Alexandra Pavlovna, ‘leave us alone.’
‘But why?’ she was beginning.
‘I have a good reason,’ he interrupted, passionately. ‘I beg you to leave us.’
Rudin entered. Volintsev, standing in the middle of the room, received him with a chilly bow, without offering his hand.
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