RUDIN
sweet languor of undefined desire and secret emotion.
Natalya walked along a long line of silver poplars beside the pond; suddenly, as if he had sprung out of the earth, Rudin stood before her. She was confused. He looked her in the face.
‘You are alone?’ he inquired.
‘Yes, I am alone,’ replied Natalya, ‘but I was going back directly. It is time I was home.’
‘I will go with you.’
And he walked along beside her.
‘You seem melancholy,’ he said.
‘I—I was just going to say that I thought you were out of spirits.’
‘Very likely—it is often so with me. It is more excusable in me than in you.’
‘Why? Do you suppose I have nothing to be melancholy about?’
‘At your age you ought to find happiness in life.’
Natalya walked some steps in silence.
‘Dmitri Nikolaitch!’ she said.
‘Well?’
‘Do you remember—the comparison you made yesterday—do you remember—of the oak?’
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