e, when you've
killed the philosopher, you can improve your own chances?'

Volintsev flung himself into a chair.

'Then I must go away somewhere! For here my heart is simply being
crushed by misery; only I can find no place to go.'

'Go away... that's another matter! That I am ready to agree to. And do
you know what I should suggest? Let us go together--to the Caucasus, or
simply to Little Russia to eat dumplings. That's a capital idea, my dear
fellow!'

'Yes; but whom shall we leave my sister with?'

'And why should not Alexandra Pavlovna come with us? Upon my soul, it
will be splendid. As for looking after her--yes, I'll undertake that!
There will be no difficulty in getting anything we want: if she likes,
I will arrange a serenade under her window every night; I will sprinkle
the coachmen with _eau de cologne_ and strew flowers along the roads.
And we shall both be simply new men, my dear boy; we shall enjoy
ourselves so, we shall come back so fat that we shall be proof against
the darts of love!'

'You are always joking, Misha!'

'I'm not joking at all. It was a brilliant idea of yours.'

'No; nonsense!' Volintsev shouted again. 'I want to fight him, to fight
him!...'

'Again! What a rage you are in!'

A servant entered with a letter in his hand.

'From whom?' asked Lezhnyov.

'From Rudin, Dmitri Nikolaitch. The Lasunsky's servant brought it.'

'From Rudin?' repeated Volintsev, 'to whom?'

'To you.'

'To me!... give it me!'

Volintsev seized the letter, quickly tore it open, and began to read.
Lezhnyov watched him attentively; a strange, almost joyful amazement was
expressed on Volintsev's face; he let his hands fall by his side.

'What is it?' asked Lezhnyov.

'Read it,' Volintsev said in a low voice, and handed him the letter.

Lezhnyov began to read. This is what Rudin wrote:

'SIR--

'I am going away from Darya Mihailovna's house to-day, and leaving it
for ever. This will certainly be a surprise to you, especially after
what passed yesterday. I cannot explain to you what exactly obliges me
to act in this way; but it seems to me for some reason that I ought to
let you know of my departure. You do not like me, and even regard me as
a bad man. I do not intend to justify myself; time will justify me. In
my opinion it is even undignified in a man and quite unprofitable to
try to prove to a prejudiced man the injustice of his prejudice. Whoever
wishes to understand me will not blame me, and