He hardly responded to Ratmirov’s bow, but rushed back to his lodgings.  His head was turning round, and his heart vibrating like a harp-string.  He tried to pull himself together.  He would fly from her.  “If I die for it,” he muttered to himself.  He packed his bag and trunk with furious energy, determined to go that very night.  As he was in the midst of his preparations, a note was brought him from Irina.

“Sooner or later,” she wrote, “it must have been.  My life is in your hands.  If necessary, I will throw up everything and follow you to the ends of the earth.  We shall see each other to-morrow, of course.  Your Irina.”

Two hours later he was sitting in his room on the sofa.  His box stood in the corner, open and empty.

III—­A Ruined Life

Tatyana and her aunt arrived the following day at twelve o’clock.  Litvinov was at the station to meet them—­a different Litvinov from the one who a few days before had been so self-confident, so spiritual, so calm and content.  His whole appearance, his movements, the expression of his face, had been transformed.  Some sensation, unknown before, had come, strong, sweet—­and evil; the mysterious guest had made its way to the innermost shrine, and taken possession and lain down in it in silence, but, in all its magnitude, like the owner in a new house.  Litvinov was no longer ashamed, he was afraid; he had been vanquished, vanquished suddenly... and what had become of his honesty?  The first look at Tatyana, the first look of Tatyana... that was what filled him with terror, that was what he had to live through directly... and afterwards?... afterwards?...  Come what may come!

The train steamed in.  Tatyana, standing near her aunt, smiled brightly and held out her hand.  He helped them to a fly and took a place in it opposite them.  He brought himself at last to look at Tatyana.  His heart throbbed with involuntary emotion; the serene expression of that honest, candid face gave him a pang of bitter reproach.  “So you are here, poor girl,” he thought.  “You whom I have so longed for, so urged to come, with whom I had hoped to spend my life to the end, you have come, you believe in me... while I... while I...”

But Kapitolina Markoyna gave him no time for musing.  She was full of chatter, full of interest in everything that was going on, afire to see all the fine aristocrats, though she abused them soundly.

After doing a round of the sights, Litvinov, his mind always on the rack, led the ladies back to their hotel.  As they entered a note was handed to him.  He tore open the envelope and read the words within, scribbled in pencil:  “Come to me this evening at seven, for one minute, I entreat you.  Irina.”

After dinner Litvinov escorted the two ladies to their room, and, after standing a little while at the window, with a scowl on his face, he suddenly announced that he had to go out for a short time on business.  Tatyana said nothing; she turned pale and dropped her eyes.  She was well aware that Litvinov knew that her aunt took a nap after dinner; she had expected him to take advantage of it to remain with her.  He had not been alone with her nor spoken frankly to her since her arrival.  And now he was going out!  What was she to make of it?  And, indeed, his whole behaviour all along....