She went to the ball in a simple white dress, wearing a bunch of heliotrope, the gift of her lover.  When he called the following day, Litvinov heard from the prince of the impression Irina had created; how all the great noblemen from St. Petersburg, and even the Czar himself, had commented upon her beauty.  But Irina herself he did not see.  She had a bad headache, the prince explained.  The following day he was again denied a sight of her, and as he turned once more from the house he saw a great personage drive up in a magnificent carriage.  A dread foreboding seized him.  Dull stupefaction, and thoughts scurrying like mice, vague terror, and the numbness of expectation and the weight of crushed tears in his heavy-laden breast, on his lips the forced, empty smile, and a meaningless prayer—­addressed to no one....

As he walked down the street his servant touched him on the shoulder, handing him a note.  He recognised Irina’s writing.  He tore open the envelope all at once.  On a small sheet of notepaper were the following lines: 

“Forgive me, Grigory Mihalovitch.  All is over between us; I am going away to Petersburg.  I am dreadfully unhappy, but the thing is done.  It seems my fate... but no, I do not want to justify myself.  My presentiments have been realised.  Forgive me, forget me!  I am not worthy of you.—­Irina.  Be magnanimous:  do not try to see me.”

The blow almost broke Litvinov’s heart.  A rich cousin of the Princess Osinin, struck by the impression created by the girl at the ball, had taken her to Petersburg, to use her as a pawn in his struggle for power.  Utterly crushed, Litvinov threw up the University and went home to his father in the country.  He heard of her occasionally, encircled in splendour.  Her name was mentioned with curiosity, respect, and envy, and at last came the news of her marriage to General Ratmirov.

II—­Temptation

Ten years had passed—­ten years during which much had happened to Litvinov.  He had served in the Crimea, and, after almost dying of typhus, had been invalided home.  Observation had shown him that his father’s management of their property was so old-fashioned that it did not yield a tenth of the revenue it might yield in skillful hands.  He determined to go abroad to study agriculture and technology, so that he might properly manage the estate.  In various parts of Europe, in England as well, he had travelled and studied, and now he found himself at Baden, his work concluded, ready to take up his duties.

He was at Baden for two reasons:  first, because he was espoused to his cousin, Tatyana Petrovna Shestov, whom he had grown to dearly love, and who had promised to be his comrade and friend “for better or worse,” as the English say.  And he was at Baden, also, because Tatyana’s aunt, Kapitolina Markovna Shestov, an old unmarried lady of fifty-five, a good-natured, honest, eccentric soul—­a democrat, sworn opponent of aristocracy and fashionable society—­could not resist the temptation of gazing for once on the aristocratic society which sunned itself in such a fashionable place as Baden.