Isn't it odd how one gets to love Russians--more than
one's own people? The more stupid things they do the more you love
them--whereas with one's own people it's quite the other way. Oh, I do
_want_ Vera and Nina and Nicholas to be happy!"
"Isn't the town queer to-night?" said Bohun, suddenly stopping. (We were
just at the entrance to the Mariensky Square.)
"Yes," I said. "I think these days between the thaw and the white nights
are in some ways the strangest of all. There seems to be so much going
on that one can't quite see."
"Yes--over there--at the other end of the Square--there's a kind of
mist--a sort of water-mist. It comes from the Canal."
"And do you see a figure like an old bent man with a red lantern? Do you
see what I mean--that red light?"
"And those shadows on the further wall like riders passing with
silver-tipped spears? Isn't it...? There they go--ten, eleven, twelve,
thirteen...."
"How still the Square is? Do you see those three windows all alight?
Isn't there a dance going on? Don't you hear the music?"
"No, it's the wind."
"No, surely.... That's a flute--and then violins.
Pages:
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518