Varenka, who had just crouched down to pick a mushroom, rose with a supple movement and looked round.

Flinging away the cigar, Sergey Ivanovitch advanced with resolute steps towards her.

"Varvara Andreevna, when I was very young, I set before myself the ideal of the woman I loved and should be happy to call my wife.

I have lived through a long life, and now for the first time I have met what I sought--in you.

I love you, and offer you my hand.