"Ah! well," he thought, gazing at the red and yellow reflections of the
foliage in the stream, "perhaps what I do is the wisest and the best.
Death ends it all, however one may have lived or tried to live. Oh!
there comes Lialia," he murmured, as he saw his sister approaching.
"Happy Lialia! She lives like a butterfly, from day to day, wanting
nothing, and troubled by nothing. Oh! if I could live as she does."
Yet this was only just a passing thought, for in reality he would on no
account have wished to exchange his own spiritual tortures for the
feather-brain existence of a Lialia.
"Yourii! Yourii!" she exclaimed in a shrill voice though she was not
more than three paces distant from him. Laughing roguishly, she handed
him a little rose-coloured missive.
Yourii suspected something.
"From whom?" he asked, sharply,
"From Sinotschka Karsavina," said Lialia, shaking her finger at him,
significantly.
Yourii blushed deeply. To receive through his sister a little pink,
scented letter like this seemed utterly silly; in fact ridiculous. It
positively annoyed him.
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