figure, and he heard his name—'Monsieur Dimitri!'
He rushed at once up to the window . . . Gemma! She was leaning with her elbows on the window-sill, bending forward.
'Monsieur Dimitri,' she began in a cautious voice, 'I have been wanting all day long to give you something . . . but I could not make up my mind to; and just now, seeing you, quite unexpectedly again, I thought that it seems it is fated' . . .
Gemma was forced to stop at this word. She could not go on; something extraordinary happened at that instant.
All of a sudden, in the midst of the profound stillness, over the perfectly unclouded sky, there blew such a violent blast of wind, that the very earth seemed shaking underfoot, the delicate starlight seemed quivering and trembling, the air went round in a whirlwind. The wind, not cold, but hot, almost sultry, smote against the trees, the roof of the house, its walls, and the street; it instantaneously snatched off Sanin's hat, crumpled up and tangled Gemma's curls. Sanin's head was on a level with the window-sill; he could not help clinging close to it, and Gemma clutched hold of his shoulders with both hands, and pressed her bosom against his head. The roar, the din, and the rattle
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