I overtake her
again, pass her by, turn quickly round, and meet her face-to-face in order
to observe her well. I stand and gaze into her eyes, and hit, on the spur
of the moment, on a name which I have never heard before--a name with a
gliding, nervous sound--Ylajali! When she is quite close to me I draw
myself up and say impressively:
"You are losing your book, madam!" I could hear my heart beat audibly as I
said it.
"My book?" she asks her companion, and she walks on.
My devilment waxed apace, and I followed them. At the same time, I was
fully conscious that I was playing a mad prank without being able to stop
myself. My disordered condition ran away with me; I was inspired with the
craziest notions, which I followed blindly as they came to me. I couldn't
help it, no matter how much I told myself that I was playing the fool. I
made the most idiotic grimaces behind the lady's back, and coughed
frantically as I passed her by. Walking on in this manner--very slowly,
and always a few steps in advance--I felt her eyes on my back, and
involuntarily put down my head with shame for having caused her annoyance.
By degrees, a wonderful feeling stole over me of being far, far away in
other places; I had a half-undefined sense that it was not I who was going
along over the gravel hanging my head.
A few minutes later, they reached Pascha's bookshop. I had already stopped
at the first window, and as they go by I step forward and repeat:
"You are losing your book, madam!"
"No; what book?" she asks affrightedly.
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