while I am living!'

Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms, and Elena and Insarov flung
themselves into her embrace.

The fatal day had come at last. It had been arranged that Elena should
say good-bye to her parents at home, and should start on the journey
from Insarov's lodgings. The departure was fixed for twelve o'clock.
About a quarter of an hour before the appointed time Bersenyev arrived.
He had expected to find Insarov's compatriots at his lodgings, anxious
to see him off; but they had already gone before; and with them the
two mysterious persons known to the reader (they had been witnesses at
Insarov's wedding). The tailor met the 'kind gentlemen' with a bow; he,
presumably, to drown his grief, but possibly to celebrate his delight at
getting the furniture, had been drinking heavily; his wife soon led him
away. In the room everything was by this time ready; a trunk, tied
up with cord, stood on the floor. Bersenyev sank into thought: many
memories came rushing upon him.

Twelve o'clock had long ago struck; and the driver had already brought
round the horses, but the 'young people' still did not appear. At last
hurrying steps were heard on the stairs, and Elena came out escorted by
Insarov and Shubin. Elena's eyes were red; she had left her mother lying
unconscious; the parting had been terrible. Elena had not seen Bersenyev
for more than a week: he had been seldom of late at the Stahovs'. She
had not expected to meet him; and crying, 'You! thank you!' she threw
herself on his neck; Insarov, too, embraced him. A painful silence
followed. What could these three say to one another? what were they
feeling in their hearts? Shubin realised the necessity of cutting short
everything painful with light words.

'Our trio has come together again,' he began, 'for the last time. Let us
submit to the decrees of fate; speak of the past with kindness; and in
God's name go forward to the new life! In God's name, on our distant
way,' he began to hum, and stopped short. He felt suddenly ashamed
and awkward. It is a sin to sing where the dead are lying: and at that
instant, in that room, the past of which he had spoken was dying, the
past of the people met together in it. It was dying to be born again in
a new life--doubtless--still it was death.

'Come, Elena,' began Insarov, turning to his wife, 'I think everything
is done? Everything paid, and everything packed. There's nothing more
except to take the box down.' He ca