IN BED
"How could I have managed to be so long and so passionately
devoted to Seriosha?" I asked myself as I lay in bed that night.
"He never either understood, appreciated, or deserved my love.
But Sonetchka! What a darling SHE is! 'Wilt THOU?'--'THY hand'!"
I crept closer to the pillows, imagined to myself her lovely
face, covered my head over with the bedclothes, tucked the
counterpane in on all sides, and, thus snugly covered, lay quiet
and enjoying the warmth until I became wholly absorbed in
pleasant fancies and reminiscences.
If I stared fixedly at the inside of the sheet above me I found
that I could see her as clearly as I had done an hour ago could
talk to her in my thoughts, and, though it was a conversation of
irrational tenor, I derived the greatest delight from it, seeing
that "THOU" and "THINE" and "for THEE" and "to THEE"
occurred in it incessantly. These fancies were so vivid that I
could not sleep for the sweetness of my emotion, and felt as
though I must communicate my superabundant happiness to some one.
"The darling!" I said, half-aloud, as I turned over; then,
"Woloda, are you asleep?"
"No," he replied in a sleepy voice. "What's the matter?"
"I am in love, Woloda--terribly in love with Sonetchka"
"Well? Anything else?" he replied, stretching himself.
"Oh, but you cannot imagine what I feel just now, as I lay
covered over with the counterpane, I could see her and talk to
her so clearly that it was marvellous! And, do you know, while I
was lying thinking about her--I don't know why it was, but all at
once I felt so sad that I could have cried."
Woloda made a movement of some sort.
"One thing only I wish for," I continued; "and that is that I
could always be with her and always be seeing her. Just that. You
are in love too, I believe. Confess that you are."
It was strange, but somehow I wanted every one to be in love with
Sonetchka, and every one to tell me that they were so.
"So that's how it is with you? " said Woloda, turning round to
me. "Well, I can understand it."
"I can see that you cannot sleep," I remarked, observing by his
bright eyes that he was anything but drowsy. "Well, cover
yourself over SO" (and I pulled the bedclothes over him), "and
then let us talk about her. Isn't she splendid? If she were to
say to me, 'Nicolinka, jump out of the window,' or 'jump into the
fire,' I should say, 'Yes, I will do it at once and rejoice in
doing it.' Oh, how glorious she is!"
I went on picturing her again and again to my imagination, and,
to enjoy the vision the better, turned over on my side and buried
my head in the pillows, murmuring, "Oh, I want to cry, Woloda."
"What a fool you are!" he said with a slight laugh. Then, after
a moment's silence he added: "I am not like you. I think I would
rather sit and talk with her."
"Ah! Then you ARE in love with her!" I interrupted.
"And then," went on Woloda, smiling tenderly, "kiss her fingers
and eyes and lips and nose and feet--kiss all of her."
"How absurd!" I exclaimed from beneath the pillows.
"Ah, you don't understand things," said Woloda with contempt.
"I DO understand. It's you who don't understand things, and you
talk rubbish, too," I replied, half-crying.
"Well, there is nothing to cry about," he concluded. "She is
only a girl."
