g to the old French lady's ideas all history
was filled with _impermissible_ things, though for some reason or other
of all the great men of antiquity she herself knew only one--Cambyses,
and of modern times--Louis XIV. and Napoleon, whom she could not endure.
But Natalya read books too, the existence of which Mlle, Boncourt did
not suspect; she knew all Pushkin by heart.

Natalya flushed slightly at meeting Rudin.

'Are you going for a walk?' he asked her.

'Yes. We are going into the garden.'

'May I come with you?'

Natalya looked at Mlle, Boncourt

'_Mais certainement, monsieur; avec plaisir_,' said the old lady
promptly.

Rudin took his hat and walked with them.

Natalya at first felt some awkwardness in walking side by side with
Rudin on the same little path; afterwards she felt more at ease. He
began to question her about her occupations and how she liked the
country. She replied not without timidity, but without that hasty
bashfulness which is so often taken for modesty. Her heart was beating.

'You are not bored in the country?' asked Rudin, taking her in with a
sidelong glance.

'How can one be bored in the country? I am very glad we are here. I am
very happy here.'

'You are happy--that is a great word. However, one can understood it;
you are young.'

Rudin pronounced this last phrase rather strangely; either he envied
Natalya or he was sorry for her.

'Yes! youth!' he continued, 'the whole aim of science is to reach
consciously what is bestowed on youth for nothing.'

Natalya looked attentively at Rudin; she did not understand him.

'I have been talking all this morning with your mother,' he went on;
'she is an extraordinary woman. I understand why all our poets sought
her friendship. Are you fond of poetry?' he added, after a pause.

'He is putting me through an examination,' thought Natalya, and aloud:
'Yes, I am very fond of it.'

'Poetry is the language of the gods. I love poems myself. But poetry is
not only in poems; it is diffused everywhere, it is around us. Look at
those trees, that sky on all sides there is the breath of beauty, and of
life, and where there is life and beauty, there is poetry also.'

'Let us sit down here on this bench,' he added. 'Here--so. I somehow
fancy that when you are more used to me (and he looked her in the face
with a smile) 'we shall be friends, you and I. What do you think?'

'He treats me like a school-girl,' Natalya reflected again, and, not
k