he said after a moment's
thought. "It will be a change for you. You will fall in love with
some one on the way, and tell me about it afterwards."

At every opportunity she tried to make Orlov feel that she did not
restrict his liberty in any way, and that he could do exactly as
he liked, and this artless, transparent strategy deceived no one,
and only unnecessarily reminded Orlov that he was not free.

"I am going this evening," he said, and began reading the paper.

Zinaida Fyodorovna wanted to see him off at the station, but he
dissuaded her, saying that he was not going to America, and not
going to be away five years, but only five days--possibly less.

The parting took place between seven and eight. He put one arm round
her, and kissed her on the lips and on the forehead.

"Be a good girl, and don't be depressed while I am away," he said
in a warm, affectionate tone which touched even me. "God keep you!"

She looked greedily into his face, to stamp his dear features on
her memory, then she put her arms gracefully round his neck and
laid her head on his breast.

"Forgive me our misunderstandings," she said in French. "Husband
and wife cannot help quarrelling if they love each other, and I
love you madly. Don't forget me. . . . Wire to me often and fully."

Orlov kissed her once more, and, without saying a word, went out
in confusion. When he heard the click of the lock as the door closed,
he stood still in the middle of the staircase in hesitation and
glanced upwards. It seemed to me that if a sound had reached him
at that moment from above, he would have turned back. But all was
quiet. He straightened his coat and went downstairs irresolutely.

The sledges had been waiting a long while at the door. Orlov got
into one, I got into the other with two portmanteaus. It was a hard
frost and there were fires smoking at the cross-roads. The cold
wind nipped my face and hands, and took my breath away as we drove
rapidly along; and, closing my eyes, I thought what a splendid woman
she was. How she loved him! Even useless rubbish is collected in
the courtyards nowadays and used for some purpose, even broken glass
is considered a useful commodity, but something so precious, so
rare, as the love of a refined, young, intelligent, and good woman
is utterly thrown away and wasted. One of the early sociologists
regarded every evil passion as a force which might by judicious
management be turned to good, while among us even