like her. She was by no means beautiful; but,
as in other matters, I have my own prepossessions
on the subject of beauty. There was a good
deal of
breeding in her. . . Breeding in women,
as in horses, is a great thing: a discovery, the
credit of which belongs to young France. It --
that is to say,
breeding, not young France --
is
chiefly to be detected in the gait, in the hands
and feet; the nose, in particular, is of the greatest
significance. In Russia a straight nose is rarer
than a small foot.
My songstress appeared to be not more than
eighteen years of age. The
unusual suppleness of
her figure, the
characteristic and original way she
had of inclining her head, her long, light-brown
hair, the golden sheen of her
slightly sunburnt
neck and shoulders, and especially her straight
nose -- all these held me fascinated. Although
in her sidelong glances I could read a certain
wildness and
disdain, although in her smile there
was a certain vagueness, yet -- such is the force
of predilections -- that straight nose of hers
drove me crazy. I fancied that I had found
Goethe's Mignon -- that queer creature of his
German
imagination. And, indeed, there was a
good deal of similarity between them; the same
rapid transitions from the
utmost restlessness to
complete immobility, the same enigmatical
speeches, the same gambols, the same strange
songs.
Towards evening I stopped her at the door
and entered into the following conversation
with her.
"Tell me, my beauty," I asked, "what were
you doing on the roof to-day?"
"I was looking to see from what direction the
wind was blowing."
"What did you want to know for?"
"Whence the wind blows comes happiness."
"Well? Were you invoking happiness with
your song?"
"Where there is singing there is also happi-
ness."
"But what if your song were to bring you
sorrow?"
"Well, what then? Where things won't be
better, they will be worse; and from bad to good
again is not far."
"And who taught you that song?"
"Nobody taught me; it comes into my head
and I sing;
whoever is to hear it, he will hear it,
and
whoever ought not to hear it, he will not
understand it."
"What is your name, my songstress?"
"He who baptized me knows."
"And who baptized you?"
"How should I know?"
"What a secretive girl you are! But look here,
I have
learned something about you" -- she
neither changed
countenance nor moved her lips,
as though my discovery was of no concern to her --
"I have
learned that you went to the shore
last night."
And,
thereupon, I very
gravely retailed to her all
that I had seen, thinking that I should embarrass
her. Not a bit of it! She burst out laughing
heartily.
"You have seen much, but know little; and
what you do know, see that you keep it under lock
and key."
"But supposing, now, I was to take it into my
head to inform the Commandant?" and here I
assumed a very serious, not to say stern, de-
meanour.
She gave a sudden spring, began to sing, and
hid herself like a bird frightened out of a thicket.
My last words were
altogether out of place.
I had no
suspicion then how momentous they
were, but afterwards I had occasion to rue
them.
As soon as the dusk of evening fell, I ordered
the Cossack to heat the teapot,
campaign fashion.
I lighted a candle and sat down by the table,
smoking my travelling-pipe. I was just about to
finish my second
tumbler of tea when suddenly
the door creaked and I heard behind me the
sound of footsteps and the light
rustle of a dress.
I started and turned round.
It was she -- my Undine. Softly and without
saying a word she sat down opposite to me and
fixed her eyes upon me. Her glance seemed
wondrously tender, I know not why; it re-
minded me of one of those glances which, in
years gone by, so despotically played with my
life. She seemed to be
waiting for a question,
but I kept silence, filled with an inexplicable
sense of
embarrassment. Mental
agitation was
evinced by the dull pallor which overspread
her
countenance; her hand, which I noticed
was trembling
slightly, moved aimlessly about
the table. At one time her breast heaved, and
at another she seemed to be
holding her
breath.
This little
comedy was
beginning to pall upon
me, and I was about to break the silence in a
most prosaic manner, that is, by
offering her a
glass of tea; when suddenly, springing up, she
threw her arms around my neck, and I felt her
moist, fiery lips pressed upon mine. Darkness
came before my eyes, my head began to swim.
I embraced her with the whole strength of
youthful
passion. But, like a snake, she glided
from between my arms, whispering in my ear
as she did so:
"To-night, when
everyone is asleep, go out
to the shore."
Like an arrow she
sprang from the room.
In the hall she upset the teapot and a candle
which was
standing on the floor.
"Little devil!" cried the Cossack, who
had taken up his position on the straw and had
contemplated
warming himself with the remains
of the tea.
It was only then that I recovered my senses.
In about two hours' time, when all had grown
silent in the harbour, I awakened my Cossack.
"If I fire a
pistol," I said, "run to the
shore."
He stared open-eyed and answered mechanic-
ally:
"Very well, sir."
I stuffed a
pistol in my belt and went out. She
was
waiting for me at the edge of the cliff. Her
attire was more than light, and a small kerchief
girded her supple waist.
"Follow me!" she said,
taking me by the
hand, and we began to descend.
I cannot understand how it was that I did not
break my neck. Down below we turned to the
right and proceeded to take the path along which
I had followed the blind boy the evening before.
The moon had not yet risen, and only two little
stars, like two
guardian lighthouses, were twink-
ling in the dark-blue vault of heaven. The heavy
waves, with measured and even
motion, rolled
one after the other, scarcely lifting the solitary
boat which was moored to the shore.
"Let us get into the boat," said my com-
panion.
I hesitated. I am no lover of senti
mentaltrips on the sea; but this was not the time to
draw back. She leaped into the boat, and I
after her; and I had not time to recover my
wits before I observed that we were adrift.
"What is the meaning of this?" I said angrily.
"It means," she answered, seating me on the
bench and throwing her arms around my waist,
"it means that I love you!" . . .
Her cheek was pressed close to mine. and I felt
her burning
breath upon my face. Suddenly
something fell noisily into the water. I clutched
at my belt -- my
pistol was gone! Ah, now a
terrible
suspicion crept into my soul, and the
blood rushed to my head! I looked round. We
were about fifty fathoms from the shore, and
I could not swim a stroke! I tried to thrust
her away from me, but she clung like a cat to
my clothes, and suddenly a
violentwrench all but
threw me into the sea. The boat rocked, but I
righted myself, and a
desperate struggle began.
Fury lent me strength, but I soon found that
I was no match for my
opponent in point of
agility. . .
"What do you want?" I cried, firmly
squeezing her little hands.
Her fingers crunched, but her serpent-like
nature bore up against the
torture, and she did
not utter a cry.
"You saw us," she answered. "You will tell
on us."
And, with a supernatural effort, she flung me
on to the side of the boat; we both hung half
overboard; her hair touched the water. The
decisive moment had come. I planted my knee
against the bottom of the boat, caught her by
the tresses with one hand and by the throat
with the other; she let go my clothes, and, in
an
instant, I had thrown her into the waves.
It was now rather dark; once or twice her head
appeared for an
instantamidst the sea foam,
and I saw no more of her.
I found the half of an old oar at the bottom of
the boat, and somehow or other, after lengthy
efforts, I made fast to the harbour. Making my
way along the shore towards my hut, I involun-
tarily gazed in the direction of the spot where,
on the
previous night, the blind boy had awaited
the nocturnal
mariner. The moon was already
rolling through the sky, and it seemed to me
that somebody in white was sitting on the shore.
Spurred by
curiosity, I crept up and crouched
down in the grass on the top of the cliff. By