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Aniuta walking alone with the young man in
the wood.
‘It was great fun to see them; Miss Aniuta
looked down all the time, and didn’t say
anything, only now and then she would swing her
sunshade up and down; he was striding along
on his stilt-legs—just like a crane, talking as
fast as he could and gesticulating with his arms;
then he pulled an old torn book out of his
pocket and began to read to her—as if he was
giving her a lesson!’
Certainly this youth was very unlike the
prince of romance, or the mediæval knight of
whom Aniuta had dreamt. His long,
unshapely figure, thin neck and pale face, his
reddish bristling hair, large coarse hands, and
badly trimmed nails—all this could not make
him a very seductive hero to a young girl
with aristocratic habits and tastes. So it was
very unlikely that Aniuta’s interest in him
could be of a romantic kind; evidently there
was something else which attracted her.
And so it was indeed. This young man came
direct from St Petersburg, and brought the
very newest ideas with him. Besides, he had
been fortunate enough to see with his own eyes
—at a distance only, it is true—several of the
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