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‘Let us go for a walk, Fyodor Fedoritch,’ Masha said to Kister after dinner with that note of affectionate authority in her voice which is, as it were, conscious that you will gladly submit to it. ‘I want to talk to you about something very, very important,’ she added with enchanting solemnity, as she put on her suede gloves. ‘Are you coming with us, maman?‘

‘No,’ answered Nenila Makarievna.

‘But we are not going into the garden.’

‘Where then?’

‘To Long Meadow, to the copse.’

‘Take Taniusha with you.’

‘Taniusha, Taniusha!’ Masha cried musically, flitting lightly as a bird from the room.

A quarter of an hour later Masha walked with Kister into the Long Meadow. As she passed the cattle, she gave a piece of bread to her favourite cow, patted it on the head and made Kister stroke it. Masha was in great good humour and chatted merrily. Kister responded willingly, though he awaited explanations with impatience…. Taniusha walked behind at a respectful distance, only from time to time stealing a sly glance at her young lady.

‘You’re not angry with me, Fyodor Fedoritch?’ queried Masha.

‘With you, Marya Sergievna? Why, whatever for?’

‘The day before yesterday… don’t you remember?’

‘You were out of humour… that was all.’

‘What are we walking in single file for? Give me your arm. That’s right…. You were out of humour too.’

‘Yes, I was too.’

‘But to-day I’m in good humour, eh?’

‘Yes, I think so, to-day…’

‘And do you know why? Because…’

Masha nodded her head gravely. ‘Well, I know why…. Because I am with you,’ she added, not looking at Kister.

Kister softly pressed her hand.

‘But why don’t you question me?…’ Masha murmured in an undertone.

‘What about?’

‘Oh, don’t pretend… about my letter.’

‘I was waiting for…’

‘That’s just why I am happy with you,’ Masha interrupted him impulsively: ‘because you are a gentle, good-hearted person, because you are incapable… parceque vous avez de la delicatesse. One can say that to you: you understand French.’

Kister did understand French, but he did not in the least understand Masha.

‘Pick me that flower, that one… how pretty it is!’ Masha admired it, and suddenly, swiftly withdrawing her hand from his arm, with an anxious smile she began carefully sticking the tender stalk in the buttonhole of Kister’s coat. Her slender fingers almost touched his lips. He looked at the fingers and then at her. She nodded her head to him as though to say ‘you may.’… Kister bent down and kissed the tips of her gloves.

Meanwhile they drew near the already familiar copse. Masha became suddenly more thoughtful, and at last kept silent altogether. They came to the very place where Lutchkov had waited for her. The trampled grass had not yet grown straight again; the broken sapling had not yet withered, its little leaves were only just beginning to curl up and fade. Masha stared about her, and turned quickly to Kister.

‘Do you know why I have brought you here?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Don’t you know? Why is it you haven’t told me anything about your friend Lutchkov to-day? You always praise him so…’

Kister dropped his eyes, and did not speak.

‘Do you know,’ Masha brought out with some effort, ‘that I made… an appointment… to meet him here… yesterday?’

‘I know that,’ Kister rejoined hurriedly.

‘You know it?… Ah! now I see why the day before yesterday… Mr. Lutchkov was in a hurry it seems to boast of his conquest.’

Kister was about to answer….

‘Don’t speak, don’t say anything in opposition…. I know he’s your friend. You are capable of taking his part. You knew, Kister, you knew…. How was it you didn’t prevent me from acting so stupidly? Why didn’t you box my ears, as if I were a child? You knew… and didn’t you care?’

‘But what right had I…’

‘What right!… the right of a friend. But he too is your friend…. I’m ashamed, Kister…. He your friend…. That man behaved to me yesterday, as if…’

Masha turned away. Kister’s eyes flamed; he turned pale.

‘Oh, never mind, don’t be angry…. Listen, Fyodor Fedoritch, don’t be angry. It’s all for the best. I am very glad of yesterday’s explanation… yes, that’s just what it was,’ added Masha. ‘What do you suppose I am telling you about it for? To complain of Mr. Lutchkov? Nonsense! I’ve forgotten about him. But I have done you a wrong, my good friend…. I want to speak openly to you, to ask your forgiveness… your advice. You have accustomed me to frankness; I am at ease with you…. You are not a Mr. Lutchkov!’