The Torrents Of Spring

that I cannot give you any advice… . I love you, love you, love you – and I have
nothing else – either in my head or in my heart!!
‘DM. SANIN.’
When he had folded and sealed this note, Sanin was on the point of
ringing for the waiter and sending it by him… . ‘No!’ he thought, ‘it
would be awkward… . By Emil? But to go to the shop, and seek him out
there among the other employés, would be awkward too. Besides, it’s
dark by now, and he has probably left the shop.’ Reflecting after this
fashion, Sanin put on his hat, however, and went into the street; he
turned a corner, another, and to his unspeakable delight, saw Emil before
him. With a satchel under his arm, and a roll of papers in his hand,
the young enthusiast was hurrying home.
‘They may well say every lover has a lucky star,’ thought Sanin, and
he called to Emil.
The latter turned and at once rushed to him.
Sanin cut short his transports, handed him the note, and explained to
whom and how he was to deliver it… . Emil listened attentively.
‘So that no one sees?’ he inquired, assuming an important and mysterious
air, that said, ‘We understand the inner meaning of it all!’
‘Yes, my friend,’ said Sanin and he was a little disconcerted; however,
he patted Emil on the cheek… . ‘And if there should be an answer… .
You will bring me the answer, won’t you? I will stay at home.’
‘Don’t worry yourself about that!’ Emil whispered gaily; he ran off,
and as he ran nodded once more to him.
Sanin went back home, and without lighting a candle, flung himself on
the sofa, put his hands behind his head, and abandoned himself to those
sensations of newly conscious love, which it is no good even to describe.
One who has felt them knows their languor and sweetness; to one who
has felt them not, one could never make them known.
The door opened – Emil’s head appeared.
‘I have brought it,’ he said in a whisper: ‘here it is – the answer!’
He showed and waved above his head a folded sheet of paper.
Sanin leaped up from the sofa and snatched it out of Emil’s hand. Passion
was working too powerfully within him: he had no thought of reserve
now, nor of the observance of a suitable demeanour – even before
this boy, her brother. He would have been scrupulous, he would have
controlled himself – if he could!
He went to the window, and by the light of a street lamp which stood
just opposite the house, he read the following lines: –
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