And let them play no mournful dirge!
But as in hours of revelry,
Let the gay fiddles shrilly twang
A rollicking, seductive waltz!
Then, as upon my dying ear
That reckless music dies away,
I too would die, dropping asleep,
And mar not with a useless moan
The peace that comes with coming death.
I'd pass away to other worlds,
Rocked to my sleep by the light strains
Of the light pleasures of our earth!'
When he wrote the words 'my dear one,' he was thinking of Silin. He declaimed his verses in an undertone to himself, and was surprised at what had come from his pen. This scepticism, this indifference, this light-minded lack of faith, how did it all agree with his principles? with what he had said at Markelov's? He flung the book in the table-drawer, and went back to his bed. But he only fell asleep at dawn when the first larks were trilling in the paling sky.
The next day he had just finished his lesson, and was sitting in the billiard-room. Madame Sipyagin came in, looked round, and, going up to him with a smile, asked him to come to her room. She was wearing a light barège dress, very simple, and very charming; the sleeves ended in a frill at the elbow; a wide ribbon clasped her waist, her hair fell in thick curls on
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