The Rendezvous | Page 2

my eyes suddenly fell on
a motionless human figure. I gassed at it fixedly; it was a young
peasant girl. She was sitting some twenty feet away from me, her head
bowed pensively and her hands dropped on her knees; in one hand,
which was half open, lay a heavy bunch of field flowers, and every
time she breathed the flowers were softly gliding over her checkered
skirt. A clear white shirt, buttoned at the neck and the wrists, fell in
short, soft folds about her waist; large yellow beads were hanging down
from her neck on her bosom in two rows. She was not at all
bad-looking. Her heavy fair hair, of a beautiful ash color, parted in two
neatly combed half-circles from under a narrow, dark-red head-band,
which was pulled down almost to her ivory-white forehead; the rest of
her face was slightly tanned with the golden sunburn peculiar to a
tender skin. I could not see her eyes--she did not lift them; but I saw her

thin, high eyebrows, her long lashes; these were moist, and on her
cheek gleamed a dried-up teardrop, which had stopped near her
somewhat pale lips. Her entire small head was very charming; even her
somewhat thick and round nose did not spoil it. I liked especially the
expression of her face; it was so simple and gentle, so sad and so full of
childish perplexity before her own sadness. She was apparently waiting
for some one. Something cracked faintly in the forest. Immediately she
raised her head and looked around; her eyes flashed quickly before me
in the transparent shade--they were large, bright, and shy like a deer's.
She listened for a few seconds, not moving her wide-open eyes from
the spot whence the faint sound had come; she heaved a sigh, turned
her head slowly, bent down still lower and began to examine the
flowers. Her eyelids turned red, her lips quivered bitterly and a new
teardrop rolled down from under her heavy eyelashes, stopping and
sparkling on her cheek. Thus quite a long while passed; the poor girl
did hot stir--only occasionally she moved her hands and
listened--listened all the time. Something cracked once more in the
forest--she started. This time the noise did not stop, it was becoming
more distinct, it was nearing--at last firm footsteps were heard. She
straightened herself, and it seemed as if she lost her courage, for her
eyes began to quiver. The figure of a man appeared through the jungle.
She looked fixedly, suddenly flushed, and, smiling joyously and
happily, seemed about to rise, but she immediately cast down her head
again, turned pale, confused--only then she lifted her quivering, almost
prayerful, eyes to the man as he paused beside her.
I looked at him from my hiding-place with curiosity. I confess he did
not produce a pleasant impression upon me. He was, by all appearances,
a spoiled valet of some rich young man. His clothes betokened a claim
to taste and smart carelessness. He wore a short top-coat of bronze
color, which evidently belonged to his master, and which was buttoned
up to the very top; he had on a pink necktie with lilac-colored edges;
and his black velvet cap, trimmed with gold stripes, was pulled over his
very eyebrows. The round collar of his white shirt propped his ears up
and cut his cheeks mercilessly, and the starched cuffs covered his hands
up to his red, crooked fingers, which were ornamented with silver and
gold rings, set with forget-me-nots of turquoise. His red, fresh,

impudent face belonged to those countenances which, as far as I have
observed, are almost always repulsive to men, but, unfortunately, are
often admired by women. Apparently trying to give an expression of
contempt and of weariness to his rough features, he was forever closing
his small, milky-gray eyes, knitting his brows, lowering the corners of
his lips, yawning forcedly, and, with careless, although not too clever,
ease, now adjusting his reddish, smartly twisted temple-curls, now
fingering the yellow hair which bristled upon his thick upper lip--in a
word, he was making an insufferable display of himself. He started to
do this as soon as he noticed the young peasant girl who was awaiting
him. He advanced to her slowly, with large strides, then stood for a
while, twitched his shoulders, thrust both hands into the pockets of his
coat, and, casting a quick and indifferent glance at the poor girl, sank
down on the ground.
"Well?" he began, continuing to look aside, shaking his foot and
yawning. "Have you waited long?"
The girl could not answer him at once.
"Long, Victor Alexandrich," she said at last, in a scarcely audible
voice.
"Ah!" He removed his cap, majestically passed his hand over his thick,
curly hair whose roots started