"In Heaven's name--what is it? Speak to me--I am Vjera--here, beside you."
He looked up suddenly, and seemed to recover his self-possession.
"You came just in time, Vjera--God bless you. I--" he hesitated. "I
think--I must have been a little dizzy with the heat. It is a warm
evening--a very warm evening."
He pressed an old silk pocket-handkerchief to his moist brow, the
pocket-handkerchief which he always had about him, freshly ironed and
smoothly folded, on the day when he expected his friends. Vjera, her face
pale with distress, passed her arm through his and made as though she
would walk with him down the gentle slope of the street, which leads in
the direction of the older city. He suffered himself to be led a few steps
in silence.
"Where are you going, Vjera?" he asked, stopping again and looking into
her face.
"Wherever you like," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. She saw that
something terrible was happening, and it was only by a desperate effort
that she controlled the violent hysterical emotion that rose like a great
lump in her throat.
"Ah, that is it, Vjera," he answered. "That is it. Where shall I go,
child?" Then he laughed nervously. "The fact is," he continued, "that I am
in a very absurd position. I do not at all know what to do."
Perhaps he had tried to give himself courage by the attempt to laugh, but,
in that case, he had failed for the present. In spite of his words his
despair was evident. His usually erect carriage was gone.
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