IX
Confident and happy, Lohengrin, the accepted lover of Mashenka, departed. Mashenka still mingled her tears and laughter. Her mother was astonished at the news.
“How can you think of marrying him, Mashenka?” said she. “You don’t mean to say you have promised without knowing anything about him? You’ll find out suddenly one day that he’s an escaped convict or something of that sort.”
But Mashenka only blushed, and repeated obstinately:
“It doesn’t matter if he’s a convict or a spy or even a hangman. I shall be one too, for I love him.”
And Serezha whispered in her ear:
“If he is the leader of a robber band ask him to let me be one of his men. I’m small enough to climb through the little windows.”
And Mashenka laughed.
But when Lohengrin reached home he resolved that his secret was no longer worth keeping. He put his visiting card into an envelope and posted it to Mashenka.
Next day when she got home from school, Serezha met her and said with an air of mystery:
“There’s a letter for you. I expect it’s from Lohengrin, arranging to meet you somewhere.”
Mashenka ran off to her own room with the letter, tore open the envelope, and found a scrap of cardboard with something printed on it and a few lines of writing in violet ink. Her hands trembled, her eyes grew dim; it was with difficulty she managed to read the simple words:
Nikolai Stepanovitch Balkashin
Skilled bookbinder
48 Matthew Street.
And below was written:
I hid my real occupation from you, dear Mashenka, fearing that you might despise an artisan, but now I am no longer afraid, being convinced that your love for me cannot change.
Both Mashenka and her mother rejoiced that the secret held nothing terrible. The mother felt inclined to grumble a little at having a workman for her son-in-law, but allowed herself to be pacified when Mashenka assured her that his bookbinding would be done in an artistic manner, and that this branch of the work could be extended. But Serezha was really disappointed; he had dreamed of night expeditions, but there was now no opportunity for him to climb through the windows of houses.
Perhaps Mashenka was a little disappointed also that everything had turned out so simple and ordinary. But in spite of everything Lohengrin would always remain her Lohengrin, and the image of her dream would never fade away; for love is not only stronger than death, but it is able to triumph over the terrible dullness of ordinary everyday life.