"You saved my brother's life, we want to thank you -- come to see us this evening: we are so indebted to you -- mother wants to. You must tell us who you are, you must rejoice with us . . ." "But I am leaving for Berlin today," Sanin faltered out. "You will have time," she said. She was so beautiful. So beautiful. Young love is ever thus, is it not? Even when it's the doomed young love of a Russian master like Turgenev.