黑沉沉的秋夜。通往树林的小路依稀可辨。头天擦黑时下的一场雪,已化得差不多了,只是树枝上多少还挂着一些残雪。天空看不见一颗星星,村里听不到一声狗吠,也听不见人们低声说话,四周围是死一般的寂静,不过定睛细瞧,就会瞅见在紧靠树林的一幢农舍的板墙附近有一个人,他站在那里一动不动,象是紧紧地贴在不高的栅门上。这是杜霞,叶夫多基娅·西多罗夫娜;科尔萨科夫觉得,他在黑暗中似乎也看得清杜霞那两道拱起的眉毛、眼睛和脸上缓缓消退的红晕,一绺淡 Dark autumn night. The path to the woods is faintly discernable. The snow of the day when it was dark, has been almost the same, but the number of still hanging on the branch some snow. The sky can not see a star, the village can not hear a bark, can not hear the people whispering, surrounded by dead silence, but looking carefully, you will see in the woods close to a farmhouse wall There was a man nearby, standing still motionless, as if clinging to a low gate. This is Du Xia, Ye Fu Duo Jiya Si Duoeruo Na; Korsakov that he seems to see in the dark Du Ya, the two arched eyebrows, eyes and face slowly subsided The flush, a pale