ased, because of his passion for Katya. Circumstances, however,
brought their visit to an abrupt conclusion.

One morning Madame Odintsov, when she was alone with Bazaroff, commented
upon his reticence and constraint. As she made this remark, Bazaroff got
up and went to the window.

"And would you like to know the reason for this reticence?" he queried.
"Would you like to know what is passing within me?"

"Yes," rejoined Madame Odintsov, with a sort of dread she did not at the
time understand.

"And you will not be angry?"

"No."

"No?" Bazaroff was standing with his back to her. "Let me tell you,
then, that I love you like a fool, like a madman.... There, you forced
it out of me."

He turned quickly, flung a searching look upon her, and, snatching both
her hands, he drew her suddenly to his breast.

She did not at once free herself from his embrace, but an instant later
she was in the seclusion of her own room, standing, her cheeks scarlet,
meditating on what had occurred.

"I am to blame," she decided, aloud, "that I could not have foreseen
this.... No, no.... God knows what it would lead to; he couldn't be
played with. Peace is, anyway, the best thing in the world."

She had come to a definite decision before she saw Bazaroff again. He
found an opportunity of speaking to her alone and hoarsely apologised
for what had taken place.

"I am sufficiently punished," he said, without raising his eyes to hers.
"My position, you will certainly agree, is most foolish. To-morrow I
shall be gone. There is no recalling the past, consequently I must go. I
can only conceive of one condition upon which I could remain; that
condition will never be. Excuse my impertinence, but you don't love me
and you never will love me, I suppose?"

Bazaroff's eyes glittered for an instant under their dark brows. Madame
Odintsov did not answer him. "I am afraid of this man," flashed through
her brain.

"Good-bye, then," said Bazaroff, as though he guessed her thought, and
he went back into the house.

_II--Bazaroff's Home-Coming_

From the scene of his discomfiture Bazaroff fled to his own house,
taking Arkady with him. Vassily Ivanovitch, his father, an old retired
army doctor, who had not seen his son for three years, was standing on
the steps of the little manor house as the coach in which they travelled
rolled up. He was a tall, thinnish man, with, dishevelled hair and a
thin hawk nose, dressed in an old military coat not