r," said Kovrin; and he laughed. "It's a
pity."

He went back to the house, light-hearted and happy. The little the
monk had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole
soul, his whole being. To be one of the chosen, to serve eternal
truth, to stand in the ranks of those who could make mankind worthy
of the kingdom of God some thousands of years sooner--that is,
to free men from some thousands of years of unnecessary struggle,
sin, and suffering; to sacrifice to the idea everything--youth,
strength, health; to be ready to die for the common weal--what
an exalted, what a happy lot! He recalled his past--pure, chaste,
laborious; he remembered what he had learned himself and what he
had taught to others, and decided that there was no exaggeration
in the monk's words.

Tanya came to meet him in the park: she was by now wearing a different
dress.

"Are you here?" she said. "And we have been looking and looking for
you. . . . But what is the matter with you?" she asked in wonder,
glancing at his radiant, ecstatic face and eyes full of tears. "How
strange you are, Andryusha!"

"I am pleased, Tanya," said Kovrin, laying his hand on her shoulders.
"I am more than pleased: I am happy. Tanya, darling Tanya, you are
an extraordinary, nice creature. Dear Tanya, I am so glad, I am so
glad!"

He kissed both her hands ardently, and went on:

"I have just passed through an exalted, wonderful, unearthly moment.
But I can't tell you all about it or you would call me mad and not
believe me. Let us talk of you. Dear, delightful Tanya! I love you,
and am used to loving you. To have you near me, to meet you a dozen
times a day, has become a necessity of my existence; I don't know
how I shall get on without you when I go back home."

"Oh," laughed Tanya, "you will forget about us in two days. We are
humble people and you are a great man."

"No; let us talk in earnest!" he said. "I shall take you with me,
Tanya. Yes? Will you come with me? Will you be mine?"

"Come," said Tanya, and tried to laugh again, but the laugh would
not come, and patches of colour came into her face.

She began breathing quickly and walked very quickly, but not to the
house, but further into the park.

"I was not thinking of it . . . I was not thinking of it," she said,
wringing her hands in despair.

And Kovrin followed her and went on talking, with the same radiant,
enthusiastic face:

"I want a love that will dominate me altogether; an