"The matter cannot be allowed to rest thus!" cried the implacable Von
Deitz, as they went out.
From the door of her room, Lida gently called "Volodja!"
Sanine stood still.
"What is it?"
"Come here; I want to speak to you."
Sanine entered Lida's little room where, owing to the trees in front of
the window, soft green twilight reigned. There was a feminine odour of
perfume and powder.
"How nice it is in here," said Sanine, with a sigh of relief.
Lida stood facing the window, and green reflected lights from the
garden flickered round her cheeks and shoulders.
"What do you want with me?" he asked kindly.
Lida was silent, and she breathed heavily.
"Why, what is the matter?"
"Are you--not going to fight a duel?" she asked hoarsely, without
looking round.
"No."
Lida was silent.
"Well, what of that?" said Sanine.
Lida's chin trembled. She turned sharply round and murmured quickly: "I can't understand that, I can't..."
"Oh!" exclaimed Sanine, frowning. "Well, I'm very sorry for you."
Human stupidity and malice surrounded him on all sides. To find such
qualities alike in bad folk and good folk, in handsome people as in
ugly, proved utterly disheartening.
He turned on his heels and went out.
Lida watched him go, and then, holding her head with both hands, she
flung herself upon the bed. The long black plait lay at full length
along the white coverlet. At this moment Lida, strong, supple and
beautiful in spite of her despair, looked younger, more full of life
than ever. Through the window came warmth and radiance from the garden,
and the room was bright and pleasant. Yet of all this Lida saw nothing.