"We all rejoice, Ivan, for and
with you, that it was not your father.--And you have saved
me--from--from a serious difficulty. If you had told them that I--that I
did not come with the others--"

Ivan gave the spectre of a laugh. "Your chemistry should have
served you, Yevgeny Alexandrovitch. Still--the lie--probably
prevented--annoyance--to you all. Ah, these Nihilists! What remarkable
fellows they--"

"Ivan, we will go now. Irina is recovering," interrupted Sergius,
gravely. To Ivan's dull surprise, the young fellow's eyes met his full
and honestly. Involuntarily Ivan shuddered; but a little of the
convulsive bitterness in his heart faded away. Nevertheless, he took a
curious advantage of the situation. Far from permitting the now
restlessly eager students to leave his rooms, he kept them there, and,
with them, the miserable Irina, till past midnight. Uncomfortable,
shame-stricken, afraid, as they were, they continued to sit at the table
of the man they had used, and to eat his food and drink his wine. Only
once Sergius ventured to turn to him, saying; "You do not eat.--This
_vol-au-vent_ is perfect."

But Ivan, turning his grave, black eyes on those of the speaker, made
answer:

"Pietr Ternoff was my mother's second cousin. He has dandled me on his
knee when I was a baby. Till I was too old for it, I drank my milk out
of the gold mug he sent me at my birth.--And Pietr Ternoff has been
murdered.--Am I to break bread--with you--to-night?"

CHAPTER XIV

THE THIRD SECTION

It was a quarter to one o'clock before Ivan finally shut the door upon
his guests--the hand of none of whom had he touched in farewell. And
they, as they went out into the May night, knew that they had left their
friendship behind forever; but only one of them would let a little
heavy-heartedness melt away in tears. Irina, hanging on her brother's
arm, wept, quietly, all the way back to the Alkheskaia.

In spite of all their genuine regret, however, there was not one of them
who carried Ivan's bitterness to bed with him that night. They believed
in the righteousness of their act. He saw it as it was: cowardly and
cold-blooded murder. Here, then, was a little more faith lost; one more
tradition gone; another shred of his remnant of faith in humanity torn
from him and flung into the mud. During the whole of the following week
he carried his load silently about with him. The papers were filled with
the story of the assassination, the d