What a strange talk we’re having, aren’t we?
I could never have believed I should talk to you like this.
You know, I’m afraid of you . . . and at the same time I trust you, because at bottom you are very good.”
“In the first place, I’m far from good; and in the second place I no longer mean anything to you, and you tell me that I am good . . . It’s just like placing a wreath of flowers round the head of a corpse.”
“Evgeny Vassilich, we are not masters . . .” began Anna Sergeyevna; but a gust of wind blew across, started the leaves rustling and carried away her words.
“Of course, you are free,” said Bazarov after a pause.
Nothing more could be distinguished; the steps went farther away . . . all became quiet again.
Arkady turned to Katya.
She was sitting in the same position, but her head bent still lower.
“Katerina Sergeyevna,” he said; his voice shook and he clenched his hands; “I love you — forever and irrevocably, and I love no one except you.
I wanted to tell you this, to find out what you will say and to ask you to marry me, because, of course, I’m not rich and I feel ready for any kind of sacrifice . . . You don’t answer?
You don’t believe me?
Do you think I’m talking lightly?
But remember these last days!
Surely you must be convinced by now that everything else — you understand me — absolutely everything else has vanished long ago and left no trace?
Look at me, say one word to me . . . I love . . . I love you . . . believe me.”
Katya turned her eyes to Arkady with a grave and radiant look, and after a long reflective pause, she murmured, smiling slightly,
“Yes.”
Arkady jumped up from the seat.
“Yes!
You said ‘yes,’ Katerina Sergeyevna!
What does that word mean?
Just that I love you, that you believe me . . . or . . . I daren’t go on . .”
“Yes,” repeated Katya, and this time he understood her.
He seized her large beautiful hands and, breathless with enthusiasm, he pressed them to his heart.
He could hardly stand on his feet, and only kept on repeating,
“Katya, Katya . . .” and she began to weep in such an innocent way, smiling gently at her own tears.
Whoever has not seen such tears in the eyes of a beloved person has not yet experienced to what an extent, overwhelmed with gratitude and awe, a human being may find happiness on earth.
The next day in the early morning, Anna Sergeyevna sent a message asking Bazarov to come to her study, and with a strained laugh she handed him a folded sheet of notepaper.
It was a letter from Arkady, in which he asked for her sister’s hand in marriage.
Bazarov quickly read through the letter, and could only with some effort conceal the malicious impulse which at once flared up within him.
“So there it is,” he remarked, “and apparently you thought no longer ago than yesterday that his feelings for Katerina Sergeyevna were of the brotherly sort.
What do you intend to do now?”
“What would you advise me to do?” asked Anna Sergeyevna, continuing to laugh.
“Well, I suppose,” answered Bazarov, also with a laugh, though he felt anything but gay and no more wanted to laugh than she did; “I suppose you ought to give the young people your blessing.
It’s a good match from every point of view; Kirsanov is tolerably well off, he’s the only son, and his father’s a good-natured fellow; he won’t object.”
Madame Odintsov walked up and down the room.
Her face flushed and turned pale by turns.
“You think so?” she said. “Well, I see no obstacles . . . I’m glad for Katya . . . and for Arkady Nikolaich.
Of course, I shall wait for his father’s answer.
I will send him in person to him.
So it turns out that I was right yesterday when I told you that we have both become old people. . . . How was it I noticed nothing?
That surprises me.”
Anna Sergeyevna laughed again and quickly turned her head away.
“The younger generation of today has grown painfully cunning,” remarked Bazarov, and he also gave a short laugh. “Good-by,” he began again after a short silence. “I hope you will bring this affair to the most agreeable conclusion; and I will rejoice from a distance.”
Madame Odintsov turned to him quickly.
“Are you going away?
Why shouldn’t you stay now?Do stay . . . it’s such fun talking to you . . . one seems to be walking on the edge of a precipice.
At first one feels timid, but one gets somehow exhilarated as one goes along.
Won’t you stay?”