So he awaited her,
thrilling in all his being.
About tea time she drove up in a carriage--she and Dmitry having come the
long way round.
And was it not right that her secretary should meet and assist her out,
and conduct her to her apartments?
How beautiful she looked, all in palest grey, and somehow the things had a
younger shape. Her skirt was short, and he could see her small and slender
feet, while a straw hat and veil adorned her black hair. Everything was
simple, and as it should be for a mountain top and unsophisticated
surroundings.
Tea was laid out on the balcony, fragrant Russian tea, and when Dmitry had
lit the silver kettle lamp he retired and left them alone in peace.
"Darling!" said Paul, as he folded her in his arms--"darling!--darling!"
And when she could speak the lady cooed back to him:
"So sweet a word is that, my Paul. Sweeter in English than in any other
language. And you are glad I have come, and we shall live a little and be
quite happy here in our pretty nest, all fresh and not a bit too grand--is
it not so? Oh! what joys there are in life; and oh! how foolish just to
miss them."
"Indeed, _yes_," said Paul.
Then they played with the tea, and she showed him how he was to drink it
with lemon. She was sweet as a girl, and said no vague, startling things;
it was as if she were a young bride, and Paul were complete master and
lord! Wild happiness rushed through him.
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