“‘Kisotchka, you had better go home,’ I said, or else your people will be sure to miss you and will be looking for you all over the town; and it would be awkward for you to go to your mother in the morning.’

“Kisotchka agreed.  At parting we arranged to meet at midday next morning in the park, and the day after to set off together to Pyatigorsk.  I went into the street to see her home, and I remember that I caressed her with genuine tenderness on the way.  There was a minute when I felt unbearably sorry for her, for trusting me so implicitly, and I made up my mind that I would really take her to Pyatigorsk, but remembering that I had only six hundred roubles in my portmanteau, and that it would be far more difficult to break it off with her in the autumn than now, I made haste to suppress my compassion.

“We reached the house where Kisotchka’s mother lived.  I pulled at the bell.  When footsteps were heard at the other side of the door Kisotchka suddenly looked grave, glanced upwards to the sky, made the sign of the Cross over me several times and, clutching my hand, pressed it to her lips.

“‘Till to-morrow,’ she said, and disappeared into the house.

“I crossed to the opposite pavement and from there looked at the house.  At first the windows were in darkness, then in one of the windows there was the glimmer of the faint bluish flame of a newly lighted candle; the flame grew, gave more light, and I saw shadows moving about the rooms together with it.

“‘They did not expect her,’ I thought.

“Returning to my hotel room I undressed, drank off a glass of red wine, ate some fresh caviare which I had bought that day in the bazaar, went to bed in a leisurely way, and slept the sound, untroubled sleep of a tourist.

“In the morning I woke up with a headache and in a bad humour.  Something worried me.

“‘What’s the matter?’ I asked myself, trying to explain my uneasiness.  ‘What’s upsetting me?’

“And I put down my uneasiness to the dread that Kisotchka might turn up any minute and prevent my going away, and that I should have to tell lies and act a part before her.  I hurriedly dressed, packed my things, and left the hotel, giving instructions to the porter to take my luggage to the station for the seven o’clock train in the evening.  I spent the whole day with a doctor friend and left the town that evening.  As you see, my philosophy did not prevent me from taking to my heels in a mean and treacherous flight. . . .

“All the while that I was at my friend’s, and afterwards driving to the station, I was tormented by anxiety.  I fancied that I was afraid of meeting with Kisotchka and a scene.  In the station I purposely remained in the toilet room till the second bell rang, and while I was making my way to my compartment, I was oppressed by a feeling as though I were covered all over with stolen things.  With what impatience and terror I waited for the third bell!