... But soon I understood what he wanted. He wished to make sure that I had not a trace of affectation. And when I understood this I was really quite free from affectation in the clothes I wore, or the arrangement of my hair, or my movements; but a very obvious form of affectation took its place - an affectation of simplicity, at a time when I could not yet be really simple. That he loved me, I knew; but I did not yet ask myself whether he loved me as a child or as a woman. I valued his love; I felt that he thought me better that all other young women in the world, and I could not help wishing him to go on being deceived about me. Without wishing to deceive him, I did deceive him, and I became better myself while deceiving him... And every thought was his thought, and every feeling was his feeling. I did not know yet that this was love...

"Why are you going?" I asked, significantly, deliberately, and looking straight at him.
He did not answer at once.
"Business!" he muttered at last and dropped his eyes.
I realized how difficult he found it to lie to me, and in reply to such a frank question.
"Listen," I said; "you know what to-day is to me, how important for many reasons. If I question you, it is not to show an interest in your doings (you know that I have become intimate with you and fond of you) - I ask you this question, because I must know the answer. Why are you going?"
"It is very hard for me to tell you the true reason," he said. "During this week I have thought much about you and about myself, and have decided that I must go. You understand why; and if you care for me, you will ask no questions." He put a hand to rub his forehead and cover his eyes. "I find it very difficult... But you will understand."
My heart began to beat fast.
"I cannot understand you," I said. "I cannot! you must tell me; in God's name and for he sake of this day tell me what you please, and I shall hear it with calmness," I said.
He changed his position and glanced at me, and again drew a lilac twig towards him.
"Well!" he said, after a short silence in a voice that tried in vain to seem steady, "it is a foolish business and impossible to put into words, and I feel the difficulty, but I will try to explain it to you," he added, frowning as if in bodily pain.
"Well?" I said.
"Just imagine the existence of a man - let us call him A - who has left youth far behind, and of a woman whom we may call B, who is young and happy and has seen nothing as yet of life or of the world. Family circumstances of various kinds brought them together, and he grew to love her as a daughter, and had no fear that this love would change its nature."
He stopped, but I did not interrupt him.
"But he forgot that B was so young, that life was still a May-game to her," he went on with a sudden swiftness and determination and without looking at me, "and that it was easy to fall in love with her in a different way, and that this would amuse her. He made a mistake and was suddenly aware of another feeling, as heavy as remorse, making its way into his heart, and he was afraid. He was afraid that their old friendly relations wold be destroyed, and he made up his mind to go away before that happened." As he said this, he began again to rub his eyes, with a pretence of indifference, and close to them.
"Why was he afraid to love differently?" I asked very low; but I restrained my emotion and spoke in an even voice. He evidently thought that I was not serious; for he answered as if he were hurt.
"You are young, and I am not young. You want amusement, and I want something different. Amuse yourself, if you like, but not with me. If you do, I shall take it seriously; and then I shall be unhappy, and you will repent. That is what A said," he added; "however, this is all nonsense; but you understand why I am going. And don't let us continue this conversation. Please not!"
"No! no!" I said "we must continue it," and tears began to tremble in my voice. "Did he love her, or not?"
He did not answer.
"If he did not love her, why did he treat her as a child and pretend to her?" I asked.
"Yes, A behaved badly," he interrupted me quickly; "but it all came to an end and they parted friends."
"This is horrible! Is there no other ending?" I said with a great effort, and then felt afraid of what I had said.
"Yes, there is," he said, showing a face full of emotion and looking straight at me. "There are two different endings. But, for God's sake, listen to me quietly and don't interrupt. Some say," - here he stood up and smiled with a smile that was heavy with pain - "some say that A went off his head, fell passionately in love with B, and told her so. But she only laughed. To her it was all a jest, but to him a matter of life and death."
I shuddered and tried to interrupt him - tried to say that he must not dare to speak for me; but he checked me, laying his hand on mine.
"Wait!" he said, and his voice shook. "The other story is that she took pity on him, and fancied, poor child, from her ignorance of the world, that she really could love him, and so consented to be his wife. And he, in his madness, believed it - believed that his whole life could begin anew; but she saw herself that she had deceived him and that he had deceived her... But let us drop the subject finally," he ended, clearly unable to say more; and them he began to walk up and down in silence before me.
Though he had asked that the subject be dropped, I saw that his whole soul was hanging on my answer. I tried to speak, but that pain at my heart kept me dumb. I glanced at him - he was pale and his lower lip trembled. I felt sorry for him. With a sudden effort I broke the bonds of silence which had held me fast, and began to speak in a low inward voice, which I feared would break every moment.
"There is a third ending to the story," I said, and then paused, but he said nothing, "the third ending is that he did not love her, but hurt her, hurt her, and thought that he was right; and he left her and was actually proud of himself. You have been pretending, not I; I have loved you since the first day we met, loved you," I repeated, and at the word "loved" my low inward voice changed, without intention of mine, to a wild cry which frightened me myself.
He stood pale before me, his lip trembled more and more violently, and two tears came out upon his cheeks.
"It is wrong!" I almost screamed, feeling that I was choking with angry unshed tears. "Why do you do it?" I cried, and got up to leave him.
But he would not let me go. His head was resting on my knees, his lips were kissing my still trembling hands, and his tears were wetting them. "my God! if I had only known!" he whispered.
"Why? why?" I kept on repeating, but in my heart there was happiness, happiness which had now come back, after so nearly departing forever.
Five minutes later Sonya was rushing upstairs to Katya and proclaiming all over the house that Masha intended to marry Serey Mikhaylych...

*sigh* Tolstoy... I recommend that you read Family Happiness It's really good. Although I have a slightly different idea of what good is. :D Click here if you want to read it.

PS Happy birthday sa blog ko! :D
kitten posted @ 12:05 PM