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282
SÖNYA KOVALÉVSKY
dining witli Jonas Lie; and Grieg and his wife, who
were just then enjoying their triumph at Paris, were
present. There was about this little dinner the
indescribable festive feeling which sometimes springs up
in a small circle when each person present is pleased
to see the other, and all feel themselves to be fully
understood and appreciated. Jonas Lie was in high
spirits. He made one speech after the other, bright
and sparkling, and full of imagination, and yet withal
— as was his wont—somewhat involved and obscure.
The spontaneity and poetic fervor inherent in all his
utterances gave to his cordiality a special charm. He
spoke of Sönya, not as the great mathematician, nor
even as the successful author, but as the little " Tanya
Raevsky," whom he said he had learned to love so truly,
and for whom he felt so great a sympathy. He said
he was so sorry for the poor little misunderstood child
who so longed for tenderness. He doubted, he said,
whether she had ever been understood. Life, he had
heard, had lavished on her every gift upon which she
set no value; had given her honors, distinction, and
success. But it had denied her what she most wanted.
She still remained standing there with great, wide-open
eyes, yearning for a touch of tenderness. There she
stood, with her empty outstretched hands. What did
she want ? Only an orange. " Thank you, Mr. Lie,"
Sönya murmured, in accents deeply moved and choked
with tears. " I have had many speeches made about
me in my life, but never one so beautiful." She could
say no more. She sat down—for she had risen in the
impulse of the moment— and tried to conquer her
emotion by drinking a glass of water.
When we left Lie’s house, Sönya was in a brighter
mood than she had been for many a day. She felt
that there existed at least one person who understood
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