Page:The Kiss and Other Stories by Anton Tchekhoff, 1908.pdf/151

 “Olga, I ask only one thing,” said the artist imploringly. He put his hand to his ear. “One thing only; do not torture me! I want nothing more from you!”

“Then swear to me that you love me still!”

“This is torture!” hissed Riabovsky through his teeth. He jumped up. “It will end in my throwing myself into the Volga, or going out of my mind. Leave me alone!”

“Then kill me! Kill me!” cried Olga Ivanovna. “Kill me!”

She again sobbed, and retired behind the partition. Raindrops pattered on the cabin roof. Riabovsky with his hands to his head walked from corner to corner; then with a determined face, as if he wanted to prove something, put on his cap, took his gun, and went out of the hut.

When he left, Olga Ivanovna lay on her bed and cried. At first she thought that it would be good to take poison, so that Riabovsky on his return would find her dead. But soon her thoughts bore her back to the drawing-room and to her husband's study; and she fancied herself sitting quietly beside Duimoff, enjoying physical rest and cleanliness; and spending the evening listening to Cavalleria Rusticuna. And a yearning for civilisation, for the sound of cities, for celebrjties filled her heart. A peasant woman entered the hut, and lazily prepared the stove for dinner.