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was
carrying yellow flowers! It's an ugly colour. She turned off Tverskaya into
a side-street and turned round. You know the Tverskaya, don't you? There
must have been a thousand people on it but I swear to you that she saw no
one but me. She had a look of suffering and I was struck less by her beauty
than by the extraordinary loneliness in her eyes. Obeying that yellow signal
I too turned into the side-street and followed her. We walked in silence
down that dreary, winding little street without saying a word, she on one
side, I on the other. There was not another soul in the street. I was in
agony because I felt I had to speak to her and was worried that I might not
be able to utter a word, she would disappear and I should never see her
again. Then, if you can believe it, she said :
" Do you like my flowers? "
'I remember exactly how her voice sounded. It was pitched fairly low
but with a catch in it and stupid as it may sound I had the impression that
it echoed across the street and reverberated from the dirty yellow wall. I
quickly crossed to her side and going up to her replied : " No ' She
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