basket tottered, fell . . . a few cherries rolled on to the path. A minute passed by . . . another.
'Why did she tell you so?' he heard her voice saying. Sanin as before could only see Gemma's neck. Her bosom rose and fell more rapidly than before.
'Why? Your mother thought that as you and I, in a short time, have become, so to say, friends, and you have some confidence in me, I am in a position to give you good advice—and you would mind what I say.'
Gemma's hands slowly slid on to her knees. She began plucking at the folds of her dress.
'What advice will you give me, Monsieur Dimitri?' she asked, after a short pause.
Sanin saw that Gemma's fingers were trembling on her knees.. . . She was only plucking at the folds of her dress to hide their trembling. He softly laid his hand on those pale, shaking fingers.
'Gemma,' he said, 'why don't you look at me?' She instantly tossed her hat back on to her shoulder, and bent her eyes upon him, confiding and grateful as before. She waited for him to speak.. . . But the sight of her face had bewildered, and, as it were, dazed him. The warm glow of the evening sun lighted up her youthful head, and the expression of that head was brighter, more radiant than its glow.
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