and what a
jealousy! It was not the jealousy that comes of too much love—the jealousy of tears and sighs and complaint springing from the pangs of a heart that dreads to lose its happiness—no, it was a hard, cold, cruel jealousy. He tyrannised over the poor woman from love more than others would have done through hate. He would fancy, for instance, some evening, in the presence of guests, that she did not look long and tenderly or often enough at him, and then, if there were any young man near Julia, or even not a young man, simply a man, or a woman, sometimes even a thing, then woe betide her! Insult, bitterness, the blackest scorn and reproach were showered upon her. Then she was forced to exculpate herself and to make atonement by various sacrifices and unqualified submission; she had to give up speaking with this person, give up staying in one place, give up going to another, to put up with the significant smiles and whispers of the slily observant, to blush, to grow pale, to be compromised.
If she received an invitation to go anywhere, before replying she would turn a questioning look on him, and he need only frown for her to decline instantly, pale and trembling. Sometimes he would give her permission—she would prepare, be dressed and ready to get into the carriage —when suddenly, from some caprice of the moment, he would pronounce a threatening veto ! and she would take off her things and countermand the carriage. Afterwards he would, very likely, begin to beg her forgiveness, and offer to go, but too late to dress and order the carriage again. So it had to be given up. He was jealous not only of handsome or intelligent or talented people, but even of the most unattractive, and at last simply of those whose faces he did not like.
But Julia put up with it all. She cut herself off from friends, never went out anywhere, and sat alone with Alex-andr. They went on—now of set design—living upon their bliss. Having come to the end of all the natural ordinary delights, she began to devise fresh ones, to diversify that world which is rich enough in pleasures without such aid. What an inventive faculty Julia displayed! But even that power was exhausted. Repetitions were reached. There was nothing left to desire or to experience.
They had learnt each other's feelings, ways of think-
m & powers and limitations, and nothing now hindered them from carrying out the plan they had formed.
Sincere outpourings grew less frequent. They sometimes sat for hours together without saying a word. But Julia was happy even in silence. At times she would address Alexandr with a question and receive a ' yes ' or ' no ' and be content; if she did not receive even this, she would fasten her eyes upon him; he would smile, and she would be happy again. If he did not smile nor make any reply, she would begin to watch every movement, every look, and interpret it in her own way, and then reproaches would follow.
They had ceased talking of the future because Alexandr was conscious on that subject of an embarrassment, a discomfort which he could not explain to himself and he tried to change the conversation. He began to ponder, to grow thoughtful. The magic circle in which his life was enclosed by love was broken through in places, and the faces of his friends appeared to him from afar, together with a whole sequence of stormy dissipation; at times brilliant balls with crowds of pretty girls, at other times his ever-occupied and busy uncle, his own neglected pursuits.
In such a mood he was sitting one evening at Julia's. There was a snowstorm outside. The snow drifted on the window and stuck in frozen lumps on the panes.
The wind rushed up the chimney and whistled mournfully. In the room the only sound was the monotonous ticking of the clock on the table and now and then a sigh from Julia.
Alexandr, from want of anything to do, cast a glance round the room, then looked at the clock—ten, and he would have to stay another two hours; he yawned. His eyes rested on Julia.
She stood leaning with her back to the fireplace; her white face bent over her shoulder, and followed Alexandr with her eyes, but not with an expression of doubt or interrogation, but one of tenderness, love and happiness. It was clear that she was struggling against a secret emotion, with some dream of sweetness, and she seemed worn out by it.
Her nerves wrought so powerfully upon her that even the thrill of tenderness itself reacted on her with the exhaustion of illness; torture and bliss were inseparable for her.
Alexandr responded with a cold uneasy stare. He went up to the windows and began to drum lightly on the pane with his finger, looking into the street.
From the street a mingled sound of voices and the rattle of carriages reached them. At all the windows were bright lights and flitting shadows. He fancied that where the light was brightest there was a lively party assembled ; there, most likely, there was a lively interchange of thoughts and ardent, versatile feelings, there life was noisy and merry. And over there at that dimly lighted window no doubt some noble, hardworking man was sitting busily occupied. And Alexandr began to reflect that for two years now he had been dragging on an indolent, senseless existence—two years gone from the sum-total of life—and all through love ! Here he began an onslaught on love.
' And what a love !' he thought, ' a sleepy, spiritless sort of love. This woman gave way to her feelings without a struggle, without an effort, without opposition, like an unresisting victim. A weak woman, lacking character, she would have bestowed her love on the first man who came across her; if it had not been me, she would have loved Surkoff exactly the same, indeed she had already begun to love him. Yes, it's no good for her to justify herself, I saw it! If some one had appeared a little more adroit and active than I, she would have yielded to him; it's simply immorality ! Is that love ? Where is the sympathy of souls of which sentimental people are always preaching? and what an a ffinity of souj s there seemed to be in our case! it seemed as L tfiough they would be one for ever, and what has it come to ? Devil knows what it is, there's no understanding it!' he muttered with irritation.
'What are you doing there? what are you thinking about ? ' asked Julia.
' Oh, nothing !' he said yawning, and sat down on the sofa rather further from her, clutching with one hand a corner of the embroidered cushion.
' Sit here, closer.'
He did not move, and made no answer.
' What is the matter with you?' she said, going up to him ; 'you are unbearable to-day.'
' I don't know,' he said drowsily; ' I'm somehow—as if I '
He did not know what answer to make to her and to himself. He had not yet made thoroughly clear to himself what was happening to him.
*She sat down near him, began to talk of the future, and by degrees grew animated. She drew a happy picture of family life, jestingly for a little time, but with a very tender conclusion.
'You—my husband! look,' she said, pointing round, A ' so on all this will be yours. Y ou will be the mas ter here
in the house, as you are already in my heart. Now I am incIependefiV 1 'Can-do what I like, and go wherever I please, but then nothing here can stir from its place without your permission; I myself shall be in bondage to your will. What a sweet slavery ! Rivet the chains as soon as may be; when is it to be ?
' All my life I dreamed of such a man, of such a love, and now my dream has come true, and happiness is near. I can scarcely believe it. Do you know it seems like a dream to me. Is it not a recompense for all my past sufferings ? '
^was torture to Alexandr to listen to these words.
u But suppose I got tired of you ? ' he asked suddenly, j trying to give a jesting accent to his voice.
r ' I should box your ears,' she said, pinching his ear;then she sighed and grew pensive even at the suggestion in jest. He did not speak.
' But what's the matter with you ? ' she asked suddenly and insistently; ' you don't speak, you scarcely hear what I say, you look away.'
Then she moved up to him and, laying her hand on his shoulder, began to speak softly, almost in a whisper, on the same subject, but not so positively. She recalled the beginning of their intimacy, the beginning of their love, her first feelings and first happiness. She almost fainted from the tenderness of her emotion; and in her pale cheeks there were two spots of crimson, which by degrees grew hot, her eyes glowed, then grew languid and half-closed ; her bosom heaved. She spoke hardly audibly, and with one hand played with Alexandr's soft hair, then looked straight into his eyes. He gently disengaged his head from her hand, drew a comb out of his pocket, and carefully combed the locks she had ruffled. She got up and looked fixedly at him.
'What is the matter with you, Alexandr?' she said uneasily.
' There she is at it again ! how can I tell ? ' he thought, but did not speak.
