She
leant her forehead against the window-pane and through her tears, gazed
at the garden. It was gloomy, there; and large raindrops beat
incessantly against the panes, so that Lialia could not tell if it were
these or her tears which hid the garden from her view. The trees looked
sad and forlorn, their pale, dripping leaves and black boughs faintly
discernible amid the general downpour that converted the lawn into a
muddy swamp.
And Lialia's whole life seemed to her utterly unhappy; the future was
hopeless, the past all dark.
When the maid-servant came to call her to breakfast, Lialia, though she
heard the words, failed to understand their meaning. Afterwards, at
table, she felt confused when her father spoke to her. It was as if he
spoke with special pity in his voice; no doubt, every one knew by this
time how abominably false to her the beloved one had been. She hastily
returned to her room and once more sat down and gazed at the grey,
dreary garden.
"Why should he be so false? Why should he have hurt me like this? Is it
that he does not love me? No, Tolia loves me, and I love him.
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