Soon after St. Thomas's week we were married at our parish church
in the village of Kurilovka, two miles from Dubetchnya. Masha wanted
everything to be done quietly; at her wish our "best men" were
peasant lads, the sacristan sang alone, and we came back from the
church in a small, jolting chaise which she drove herself. Our only
guest from the town was my sister Kleopatra, to whom Masha sent a
note three days before the wedding. My sister came in a white dress
and wore gloves. During the wedding she cried quietly from joy and
tenderness. Her expression was motherly and infinitely kind. She
was intoxicated with our happiness, and smiled as though she were
absorbing a sweet delirium, and looking at her during our wedding,
I realized that for her there was nothing in the world higher than
love, earthly love, and that she was dreaming of it secretly,
timidly, but continually and passionately. She embraced and kissed
Masha, and, not knowing how to express her rapture, said to her of
me: "He is good! He is very good!"

Before she went away she changed into her ordinary dress, and drew
me into the garden to talk to me alone.

"Father is very much hurt," she said, "that you have written nothing
to him. You ought to have asked for his blessing. But in reality
he is very much pleased. He says that this marriage will raise you
in the eyes of all society, and that under the influence of Mariya
Viktorovna you will begin to take a more serious view of life. We
talk of nothing but you in the evenings now, and yesterday he
actually used the expression: 'Our Misail.' That pleased me. It
seems as though he had some plan in his mind, and I fancy he wants
to set you an example of magnanimity and be the first to speak of
reconciliation. It is very possible he may come here to see you in