Page:Chernyshevsky.whatistobedone.djvu/145

Rh "Now I forgive you, because I have succeeded in laughing at you. You see, you wanted to examine me, and you yourself did not know the principal reason why it is not well. Nobody's hands should be kissed; that's true: but that was not what I was talking about; not the general rule, but only about the impropriety of a man kissing a woman's hand. This, my dear, ought to be very offensive to a woman; it shows that she is not looked upon as an equal. Women think that a man cannot lower self-respect before a woman; that she is already so much lower than he is, that no matter how much he lowers himself before her, still he does not come down to her level, but is far higher than she is. But you do not think this way, my dear; why, then should you kiss my hand. But listen to what I think, my mílenki, as though we had never been bridegroom and bride."

"Yes, that is true, Viérotchka; it looks very little like it. But what are we then?"

"God knows what we are, my mílenki; or rather it's this way: as though we had been married, long, long ago."

"That's so, my dear, it is true; we are old friends, nothing has changed."

"Only one thing has changed, my mílenki: that now I know that I am coming out from the cellar to enjoy freedom."

they talked,—rather a strange conversation for the first one after their engagement,—and they pressed each other's hands, and Lopukhóf went home by himself, and Viérotchka locked the door after him, because Matrióna remained sitting longer than usual in the dining-room, hoping that her "golden one" would snore for a long time to come; and, in fact, her golden one did snore for a long time to come.

When Lopukhóf reached home about seven o'clock he tried to apply himself to work, but he could not collect his thoughts. His mind was occupied not with his work, but he was constantly occupied with the same visions that came to him during the lone walk from the Semyonovsky bridge to the Vuiborgsky ward: naturally with visions of love. Certainly with such visions, but yet not entirely with love and not entirely with visions. The life of a man without means