I said that I loved him, and we kissed; and that first kiss seemed strange and unpleasant rather than pleasant, our lips just touching the other’s face, as though by chance. He went down and sent away his carriage, and I ran off to mother. She went to father, who came out of his room. It was all over⁠—we were engaged. It was past one when he left, and he will come again tomorrow, and the wedding will be in a month. He wanted it to be next week, but mother would not hear of it.

It was fifty-seven years ago. The war was just over. The Voronov household was busy with wedding preparations. The second daughter, Marie, was engaged to Alexis Lutkovsky. They had known each other since childhood. They had played and danced together. Now he had returned from Sevastopol, with the rank of lieutenant.