But then they went away; the light went out. . . .  I glanced round at the engineer’s, and there, too, all was darkness now.  In the dark and the rain I felt hopelessly alone, abandoned to the whims of destiny; I felt that all my doings, my desires, and everything I had thought and said till then were trivial in comparison with my loneliness, in comparison with my present suffering, and the suffering that lay before me in the future.  Alas, the thoughts and doings of living creatures are not nearly so significant as their sufferings!  And without clearly realizing what I was doing, I pulled at the bell of the Dolzhikovs’ gate, broke it, and ran along the street like some naughty boy, with a feeling of terror in my heart, expecting every moment that they would come out and recognize me.  When I stopped at the end of the street to take breath I could hear nothing but the sound of the rain, and somewhere in the distance a watchman striking on a sheet of iron.

For a whole week I did not go to the Dolzhikovs’.  My serge trousers were sold.  There was nothing doing in the painting trade.  I knew the pangs of hunger again, and earned from twopence to fourpence a day, where I could, by heavy and unpleasant work.  Struggling up to my knees in the cold mud, straining my chest, I tried to stifle my memories, and, as it were, to punish myself for the cheeses and preserves with which I had been regaled at the engineer’s.  But all the same, as soon as I lay in bed, wet and hungry, my sinful imagination immediately began to paint exquisite, seductive pictures, and with amazement I acknowledged to myself that I was in love, passionately in love, and I fell into a sound, heavy sleep, feeling that hard labour only made my body stronger and younger.

One evening snow began falling most inappropriately, and the wind blew from the north as though winter had come back again.  When I returned from work that evening I found Mariya Viktorovna in my room.  She was sitting in her fur coat, and had both hands in her muff.

“Why don’t you come to see me?” she asked, raising her clear, clever eyes, and I was utterly confused with delight and stood stiffly upright before her, as I used to stand facing my father when he was going to beat me; she looked into my face and I could see from her eyes that she understood why I was confused.

“Why don’t you come to see me?” she repeated.  “If you don’t want to come, you see, I have come to you.”

She got up and came close to me.

“Don’t desert me,” she said, and her eyes filled with tears.  “I am alone, utterly alone.”

She began crying; and, hiding her face in her muff, articulated: 

“Alone!  My life is hard, very hard, and in all the world I have no one but you.  Don’t desert me!”

Looking for a handkerchief to wipe her tears she smiled; we were silent for some time, then I put my arms round her and kissed her, scratching my cheek till it bled with her hatpin as I did it.