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168
SÖNYA KOVALÉVSKY
beating high with the excitement which always
accompanies and lends such a charm to great moments in
the lives of romantic people. Sönya felt herself the
heroine of the romance now opening—she, the little
Sönya, who had hitherto been nothing but her sister’s
shadow!
But the romance was of quite a different kind to
the love-tales of which literature is full, and which she
herself despised.
For this was no lovers’ tryst .to which Sonya’s light
feet were speeding so rhythmically. It was no
passionate love that made her heart beat, as, breathless
with fright, she sped up the dark flight of steps of a
dilapidated house in a miserable street. She rapped
three nervous little taps on a certain door, which
opened so quickly that it was clear the young man
who presented himself had been on the watch and was
expecting her. He immediately led her into a simple
study, where books were piled up in every direction,
and where a sofa had been evidently emptied of them
to receive her.
The young man was not quite an ideal hero of
romance. His large red beard and too prominent
nose gave him, at first sight, an ugly aspect. But,
once you met the clear glance of his deep-blue eyes, you
found in them such a kindly, intelligent, and honest
expression that they grew most attractive. His manner
to this young girl, who showed such strange confidence
in him, was quite that of an elder brother. The two
young people sat down excitedly on the sofa, listening
for heavy footsteps on the stairs. Sönya started up,
turning red and white, each time she thought she
heard a movement in the corridor.
Meanwhile her parents had returned home, but only
just in time—as the girls had well calculated—to dress
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