Recovering herself at last, she perceived the bright image of the moon
in the dark water, and Sanine's face bending over her with glittering
eyes. She felt that his arms were wound tightly round her, and that one
of the oars was chafing her knee.

Then she began to weep gently, persistently, without freeing herself
from Sanine's embrace.

Her tears were for that which was irretrievable. Fear and pity for
herself, and fondness for him made her weep. Sanine lifted her up and
set her on his knee. She meekly submitted like some sorrowful child. As
in a dream she could hear him gently comforting her in a tender,
grateful voice.

"I shall drown myself." The thought seemed an answer to a third
person's stern question, "What have you done, and what will you do
now?"

"What shall I do now?" she asked aloud.

"We will see," replied Sanine.

She tried to slip off his knees, but he held her fast, so she remained
there, thinking it strange that she could feel for him neither hatred
nor disgust.

"It doesn't matter what happens, now," she said to herself, yet a
secret physical curiosity prompted her to wonder what this strong man,
a stranger, and yet so close a friend, would do with her.

After a while, he took the oars, and she reclined beside him, her eyes
half-closed, and trembling every time that his hand in rowing moved
close to her bosom. As the boat with a grating sound touched the shore,
Sina opened her eyes. She saw fields, and water, and white mist, and
the moon like a pale phantom ready to flee at dawn. It was now daybreak
and a cool breeze was blowing.