Kister did understand French, but he did not in the least understand Masha.
'Pick me that flower, that one... how pretty it is!' Masha admired it, and suddenly, swiftly withdrawing her hand from his arm, with an anxious smile she began carefully sticking the tender stalk in the buttonhole of Kister's coat. Her slender fingers almost touched his lips. He looked at the fingers and then at her. She nodded her head to him as though to say 'you may.'... Kister bent down and kissed the tips of her gloves.
Meanwhile they drew near the already familiar copse. Masha became suddenly more thoughtful, and at last kept silent altogether. They came to the very place where Lutchkov had waited for her. The trampled grass had not yet grown straight again; the broken sapling had not yet withered, its little leaves were only just beginning to curl up and fade. Masha stared about her, and turned quickly to Kister.
'Do you know why I have brought you here?'
'No, I don't.'
'Don't you know? Why is it you haven't told me anything about your friend Lutchkov to-day? You always praise him so...'
Kister dropped his eyes, and did not speak.
'Do you know,' Masha brought out with
