disappeared. Nejdanov himself was not in the least repulsive or
disgusting to her; she was only sorry for him. She knew quite well that
he was not a debauchee, a drunkard, and was wondering what she would say
to him when he woke up; something friendly and affectionate to minimise
the first sting of conscience and shame. "I must try and get him to tell
me himself how it all happened," she thought.

She was not disturbed, but depressed--hopelessly depressed. It seemed
as if a breath of the real atmosphere of the world towards which she was
striving had blown on her suddenly, making her shudder at its coarseness
and darkness. What Moloch was this to which she was going to sacrifice
herself?

But no! It could not be! This was merely an incident, it would soon pass
over. A momentary impression that had struck her so forcibly because it
had happened so unexpectedly. She got up, walked over to the couch on
which Nejdanov was lying, took out her pocket-handkerchief and wiped his
pale forehead, which was painfully drawn, even in sleep, and smoothed
back his hair...

She pitied him as a mother pities her suffering child. But it was
somewhat painful for her to look at him, so she went quietly into her
own room, leaving the door unlocked.

She did not attempt to take any work in her hand. She sat down and
thoughts began crowding in upon her. She felt how the time was slipping
away, how one minute flew after another, and the sensation was even
pleasant to her. Her heart beat fast and again she seemed to be waiting
for something.

What has become of Solomin?

The door creaked softly and Tatiana came into the room. "What do you
want?" Mariana asked with a shade of annoyance.

"Mariana Vikentievna," Tatiana began in an undertone, "don't worry, my
dear. Such things happen every day. Besides, the Lord be thanked--"

"I am not worrying at all, Tatiana Osipovna," Mariana interrupted her.
"Alexai Dmitritch is a little indisposed, nothing very serious!"

"That's all right! I wondered why you didn't come, and thought there
might be something the matter with you. But still I wouldn't have come
in to you. It's always best not to interfere. But someone has come--a
little lame man, the Lord knows who he is--and demands to see Alexai
Dmitritch! I wonder what for? This morning that female came for him and
now this little cripple. 'If Alexai Dmitritch is not at home,' he says,
'then I must see Vassily Fedotitch! I won't go away without see