Page:The Kiss and Other Stories by Anton Tchekhoff, 1908.pdf/42

 figure, regular features, and pretty wavy hair. To Ogneff, who knew few women, she seemed beautiful.

“I am going away,” he said again, bidding her good-bye at the wicket-gate. “Think well of me! And thanks for everything!”

And again twitching his shoulders, and speaking in the sing-song seminarist's voice which, he had used to the old man, he thanked Vera for her hospitality, her kindness, her heartiness.

“I wrote about you to my mother in every letter,” he said. “If all men were like you and your father, life on earth would be paradise. Every one in your house is the same. So simple, so hearty, so sincere. . . .”

“Where are you going?”

“First to my mother, in Oriol. I shall spend two days there. Then to St. Petersburg to work.”

“And then?”

“Then? I shall work all winter, and in spring go somewhere in the country to collect material. Well. . . be happy, live a hundred years, and think well of me! This is the last time we meet.”

Ogneff bowed his head and kissed Verotchka's hand; then in silent confusion straightened his cloak, rearranged his package of books, and said —

“What a thick mist to-night!”

“Yes. Have you not forgotten anything?”

“Nothing ... I think.”