Page:The Kiss and Other Stories by Anton Tchekhoff, 1908.pdf/99

 “There you are; all so young, so good, living so restfully in this refuge that I envy you! I have got so used to this life that my heart sinks when I think I must leave you. . . . Believe in me; I am sincere.”

Slumber closed my eyes, and I lost consciousness. I was awakened by a noise, and saw that my uncle still stood before Tatiana Ivanovna, and looked at her with rapture. His cheeks burned.

“My life is past,” he said. “I have never lived. Your young face reminds me of my vanished youth. I should rejoice to sit here and look at you till the day of my death! With what joy could I take you back with me to St. Petersburg!”

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Feodor hoarsely.

“I should set you down on my desk under a glass case, and admire you, and show you to my friends. Pelageya Ivanovna, such as you we have none! We have wealth, distinction, sometimes beauty! But never this living sincerity. . . this healthy restfulness.”

My uncle sat down before Tatiana Ivanovna and took her by the hand.

“So you don't want to come to St. Petersburg,” he continued caressingly. “In that case give me here your little handy! Adorable little handy! You won't give it? Well, miser, at least let me give it a kiss ! . . .”

A chair moved noisily. Feodor leaped up, and with measured, heavy footsteps, went up to his wife. His