The Torrents Of Spring

XXXVIII
Oh, what a deep sigh of delight Sanin heaved, when he found himself in
his room! Indeed, Maria Nikolaevna had spoken the truth, he needed
rest, rest from all these new acquaintances, collisions, conversations,
from this suffocating atmosphere which was affecting his head and his
heart, from this enigmatical, uninvited intimacy with a woman, so alien
to him! And when was all this taking place? Almost the day after he had
learnt that Gemma loved him, after he had become betrothed to her.
Why, it was sacrilege! A thousand times he mentally asked forgiveness
of his pure chaste dove, though he could not really blame himself for
anything; a thousand times over he kissed the cross she had given him.
Had he not the hope of bringing the business, for which he had come to
Wiesbaden, to a speedy and successful conclusion, he would have
rushed off headlong, back again, to sweet Frankfort, to that dear house,
now his own home, to her, to throw himself at her loved feet… . But
there was no help for it! The cup must be drunk to the dregs, he must
dress, go to dinner, and from there to the theatre… . If only she would let
him go to-morrow!
One other thing confounded him, angered him; with love, with tenderness,
with grateful transport he dreamed of Gemma, of their life together,
of the happiness awaiting him in the future, and yet this strange woman,
this Madame Polozov persistently floated – no! not floated, poked
herself, so Sanin with special vindictiveness expressed it – poked herself in
and faced his eyes, and he could not rid himself of her image, could not
help hearing her voice, recalling her words, could not help being aware
even of the special scent, delicate, fresh and penetrating, like the scent of
yellow lilies, that was wafted from her garments. This lady was obviously
fooling him, and trying in every way to get over him … what for?
what did she want? Could it be merely the caprice of a spoiled, rich, and
most likely unprincipled woman? And that husband! What a creature he
was! What were his relations with her? And why would these questions
keep coming into his head, when he, Sanin, had really no interest
whatever in either Polozov or his wife? Why could he not drive away
that intrusive image, even when he turned with his whole soul to another
image, clear and bright as God’s sunshine? How, through those almost
divine features, dare those others force themselves upon him? And
not only that; those other features smiled insolently at him. Those grey,
rapacious eyes, those dimples, those snake-like tresses, how was it all
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