But he did not recognize her
at once. Coming up with Peter Ivanovitch, he did observe her; their eyes
had met, even. He had responded, as no one could help responding, to
the harmonious charm of her whole person, its strength, its grace, its
tranquil frankness--and then he had turned his gaze away. He said to
himself that all this was not for him; the beauty of women and the
friendship of men were not for him. He accepted that feeling with a
purposeful sternness, and tried to pass on. It was only her outstretched
hand which brought about the recognition. It stands recorded in the
pages of his self-confession, that it nearly suffocated him physically
with an emotional reaction of hate and dismay, as though her appearance
had been a piece of accomplished treachery.
He faced about. The considerable elevation of the terrace concealed them
from anyone lingering in the doorway of the house; and even from the
upstairs windows they could not have been seen. Through the thickets run
wild, and the trees of the gently sloping grounds, he had cold, placid
glimpses of the lake. A moment of perfect privacy had been vouchsafed
to them at this juncture. I wondered to myself what use they had made of
that fortunate circumstance.
"Did you have time for more than a few words?" I asked.
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