"Lidia Petrovna!" he cried, in a pleasant, cheery voice, "Where are you
going in all this heat?"

Mechanically her eyes glanced at his forage-cap, jauntily poised on his
moist, sunburnt brow. She did not speak, but merely smiled her
habitual, coquettish smile.

At that moment, ignorant herself as to what might happen, she echoed
his question: "Ah! where, indeed?"

She no longer felt angry with Sarudine. Hardly knowing why she had gone
to him, for it seemed impossible to live without him, or bear her grief
alone. Yet it was as if he had just vanished from her life. The past
was dead. That which remained concerned her alone; and as to that she
alone could decide.

Her brain worked with feverish haste, her thoughts being yet clear and
plain. The most dreadful thing was, that the proud, handsome Lida would
disappear, and in her stead there would be a wretched being,
persecuted, besmirched, defenceless. Pride and beauty must be retained.
Therefore, she must go, she must get away to some place where the mud
could not touch her. This fact clearly established, Lida suddenly
imagined herself encircled by a void; life, sunlight, human beings, no
longer existed; she was alone in their midst, absolutely alone. There
was no escape; she must die, she must drown herself. In a moment this
became such a certainty that it was as if round her a wall of stone had
arisen to shut her off from all that had been, and from all that might
be.