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"Don't stamp like that!" exclaimed Lida, opening her eyes. "One can't
hear anything."
Only then was Novikoff aware that Sarudine was singing.
The young officer had chosen that old romance,
_I loved you once! Can you forget?
Love in my heart is burning yet_.

He did not sing badly, but after the style of untrained singers who
seek to give expression by exaggerated tone-colour. Novikoff found
nothing to please him in such a performance.
"What is that? One of his own compositions?" asked he, with unusual
bitterness.
"No! Don't disturb us, please, but sit down!" said Lida, sharply. "And
if you don't like music, go and look at the moon!"
Just then the moon, large, round and red, was rising above the black
tree-tops. Its soft evasive light touched the stone steps, and Lida's
dress, and her pensive, smiling face. In the garden the shadows had
grown deeper; they were now sombre and profound as those of the forest.
Novikoff sighed, and then blurted out.
"I prefer you to the moon," thinking to himself, "that's an idiotic
remark!"
Lida burst out laughing.


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