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By Root 2181 0

of a mouse or faint if a chair fell down, but she was afraid to walk too far from home, she turned aside if she saw a suspicious-looking peasant. She closed her window at night to make sure burglars did not climb in – all like a woman. Besides, she was so easily accessible to the feelings of pity and compassion. It was not difficult to make her cry; the way to her heart was easy to find. In love she was so tender, in her relations to everyone she showed so much kindness and affectionate attention – in short, she was a woman. There was sometimes a flash of sarcasm in her speech, but it was so brilliant and graceful, and it revealed so gentle and charming a mind, that one was only too glad to be its victim. On the other hand, she was not afraid of draughts and went lightly dressed at dusk – with no ill effect. She was brimming over with health, she had an excellent appetite, and knew how to prepare her favourite dishes herself. No doubt many other women are like that, too; but they do not know what to do in an emergency, and if they do, it is only what they have learnt or heard, and if they don’t they immediately refer to the authority of a cousin or an aunt.… Many do not even know what it is they want, and if they make up their minds about something they do it so listlessly that it is difficult to say whether they really want to do it or not. This is probably because their eyebrows are arched evenly and have been plucked with the fingers and because there is no crease on their foreheads.

A kind of secret relationship, invisible to others, had been established between Olga and Oblomov: every look, every insignificant word uttered in the presence of others, had a special meaning for them. They saw in everything a reference to love. Olga sometimes flushed crimson, in spite of her self-confidence, if someone told at table a love-story that was similar to her own; and as all love-stories are very much alike, she often had to blush. Oblomov, too, at the mention of it, would suddenly seize, in his confusion, such a fistful of biscuits that someone was quite sure to laugh. They had grown cautious and sensitive. Sometimes Olga did not tell her aunt that she had seen Oblomov, and he would say at home that he was going to town and walk to the park instead. But however clear-sighted and practical she was, Olga began to develop some strange, morbid symptoms, in spite of her good health. She was at times overcome by a restlessness which she could not explain and which worried her. Sometimes as she walked arm in arm with Oblomov in the noonday heat, she leaned lazily against his shoulder and walked on mechanically, in a kind of exhaustion, and was obstinately silent. Her cheerfulness deserted her; she looked tired and listless and often fixed her eyes on some point and had not the energy to turn them on some other object. She felt wretched, some weight pressed on her breast and perturbed her. She took off her cloak, her kerchief, but it did not help – she still felt something weighing her down, oppressing her. She would have liked to lie down under a tree and stay there for hours. Oblomov was at a loss what to do; he fanned her with a branch, but she stopped him with a gesture of impatience, and went on feeling wretched. Then she sighed suddenly, glanced round her with interest, looked at him, pressed his hand, smiled, and her cheerfulness returned, she laughed and was self-possessed once more.

One evening especially she had an attack of this restlessness, a kind of somnambulism of love, and revealed herself to Oblomov in a new light. It was hot and sultry; from the forest came the hollow rumble of a warm wind; the sky was overcast. It was growing darker and darker.

‘It’s going to rain,’ said the baron, and went home.

Olga’s aunt retired to her room. Olga went on playing the piano pensively, but stopped at last.

‘I can’t go on,’ she said to Oblomov. ‘My fingers are trembling. I feel stifled. Let’s go into the garden.’

They walked for some time along the paths hand in hand. Her hands were moist and soft. They entered the