Chapter 5

           “VarvaraAndreevna,whenIwasveryyoung,IsetbeforemyselftheidealofthewomanIlovedandshouldbehappytocallmywife.Ihavelivedthroughalonglife,andnowforthefirsttimeIhavemetwhatIsought—inyou.Iloveyou,andofferyoumyhand.”

           SergeyIvanovitchwassayingthistohimselfwhilehewastenpacesfromVarvara.Kneelingdown,withherhandsoverthemushroomstoguardthemfromGrisha,shewascallinglittleMasha.

           “Comehere,littleones!Therearesomany!”shewassayinginhersweet,deepvoice.

           SeeingSergeyIvanovitchapproaching,shedidnotgetupanddidnotchangeherposition,buteverythingtoldhimthatshefelthispresenceandwasgladofit.

           “Well,didyoufindsome?”sheaskedfromunderthewhitekerchief,turningherhandsome,gentlysmilingfacetohim.

           “Notone,”saidSergeyIvanovitch.“Didyou?”

           Shedidnotanswer,busywiththechildrenwhothrongedabouther.

           “Thatonetoo,nearthetwig,”shepointedouttolittleMashaalittlefungus,splitinhalfacrossitsrosycapbythedrygrassfromunderwhichitthrustitself.VarenkagotupwhileMashapickedthefungus,breakingitintotwowhitehalves.“Thisbringsbackmychildhood,”sheadded,movingapartfromthechildrenbesideSergeyIvanovitch.

           Theywalkedonforsomestepsinsilence.Varenkasawthathewantedtospeak;sheguessedofwhat,andfeltfaintwithjoyandpanic.Theyhadwalkedsofarawaythatnoonecouldhearthemnow,butstillhedidnotbegintospeak.ItwouldhavebeenbetterforVarenkatobesilent.