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A BIOGRAPHY
283
her, though he had seen her but a few times, and knew
nothing of her private circumstances. He had
penetrated further into her inmost soul by merely reading
her book than her most intimate friends had done,
though they had known her for years. Now, after all,
she felt that there was some pleasure in writing, and,
after all, life was worth living.
We had intended to go straight from Lie’s house
to another friend, and not run home between whiles.
But Sonya was always expecting letters, and was never
happy if away from the hotel for many hours at a time.
So we returned home, taking a circuitous road to the
hotel in order to ask the eternal question, Are there
any letters ? The next moment Sonya had clutched
the letter which lay close to the key of our rooms, and
rushed up the flight of stairs.
I followed her slowly, and went straight to my own
room, for I did not want to disturb her.
Almost immediately she came to me, threw her arms
around my neck, laughed, danced round me, and then
flung herself down on the sofa, almost shouting with
delight.
" Oh, what happiness!" she exclaimed. " I cannot
bear it! I shall die of joy! "
The letter explained and did away with an
unfortunate misunderstanding—one which had worried her
for months, and had worn her to a shadow. The very
next evening she left Paris in order to meet the man
on whom her whole existence depended.
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