Jaded and sick at heart, she rose, and noiselessly began to dress,
fearful lest Dubova should awake. Then she sat at the window, gazing
anxiously at the green and yellow foliage in the garden. Thoughts
whirled in her brain, thoughts hazy and confused as smoke driven by the
wind. Suddenly Dubova awoke.

"What? Up already? How extraordinary!" she exclaimed.

When Sina returned in the early morning, her friend had only drowsily
asked, "How did you get in such a mess?" and then had fallen asleep
again. Now that she noticed that something was wrong, she hurried
across to Sina, barefooted, and in her night-dress.

"What's the matter? Are you ill?" she asked sympathetically, as might
an elder sister.

Sina winced, as beneath a blow, yet, with a smile on her rosy lips, she
replied in a tone of forced gaiety: "Oh! dear no! Only, I hardly slept at all last night."

Thus was the first lie spoken that converted all her frank, proud
maidenhood to a memory. In its place there was now something false and
sullied. While Dubova was dressing herself, Sina glanced furtively at
her from time to time. Her friend seemed to her bright and pure, and
she herself as repulsive as a crushed reptile. So powerful was this
impression, that even the very part of the room where Dubova stood
appeared full of sunshine, while her own corner was steeped in gloom.
Sina remembered how she had always thought herself purer and more
beautiful than her friend, and the change that had come caused her
intense anguish.