ot try to justify myself before thee, Aloysius, nor to
deny that I am guilty--I will say only this, that I, too, was
unhappy, and that my fault has caused me dreadful suffering. I
wished to say to thee, Aloysius, that, perhaps, even on thy part
also, for thou didst not know me--that is, thou didst know my
face, my eyes, my hair, the sound of my voice, and they pleased
thee, hence thou didst make me thy wife, but thou didst not know
my soul, and didst not wish to be its confidant, or its defender.
This soul was not devoid of good desires; not without some small
beginning of heartfelt happiness--though it was the unfortunate
soul of a woman attacked by wealth and idleness. But thou,
Aloysius, didst make a rich woman of a girl who, though poor and
a toiler, held her head high--thou didst make her a rich and
unoccupied woman, who--was left to herself at all times. Still,
it was thy wish and demand that I should represent thy name in
society with the utmost effect; thy name; thy firm, as thou didst
call it."

She was silent, for her eyes met his smile which was bristling
with pin-points.

"It seems to me," said he, "that in this tragic piece which it
pleases thee to play, the role of villain will fall to me."

"Oh, no!" cried she, clasping her hands. "Oh, no! I did not wish
to complain of thee in any way, or to make reproaches--I have not
the right--but--I think that since all of us in this world are
guilty in some way, and life is so sad, and all is so--poor, it
would perhaps be better to forgive each other--to yield, to
renounce. This is what I think, and though my pride is wounded
this long time because all that I must use is thine, I yield, and
I will use it, though my only wish is to go from here, to
withdraw from the world, to vanish forever in some lonely
corner--"

Her voice quivered, shaken by sobbing, but she restrained herself
and finished:

"I will renounce this desire, and remain, if--only thou wish--if
only thou wilt not despise me--"

With his profile outlined more and more sharply on the
window-pane, which grew darker from the gloom, he answered, after
a moment of silence:

"I have not the strength for it. I am very sorry; but in me is
not stuff to make the hero of a Christian romance. Thou hast
perfect freedom of movement; Krynichna belongs to thy daughter.
Thou mayst vanish with her in that 'lonely corner,' in which I
cannot wish pleasant lives to you, or remain and live here as
hitherto, which