And a moment later came a voice from downstairs:  “You might as well quit, you people.  We mean business, this time.”

So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemen came up, staring here and there, and leering at their victims.  Of the latter the men were for the most part frightened and sheepish-looking.  The women took it as a joke, as if they were used to it—­though if they had been pale, one could not have told, for the paint on their cheeks.  One black-eyed young girl perched herself upon the top of the balustrade, and began to kick with her slippered foot at the helmets of the policemen, until one of them caught her by the ankle and pulled her down.  On the floor below four or five other girls sat upon trunks in the hall, making fun of the procession which filed by them.  They were noisy and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one of them, who wore a bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in a voice that drowned out all the other sounds in the hall—­and Jurgis took a glance at her, and then gave a start, and a cry, “Marija!”

She heard him, and glanced around; then she shrank back and half sprang to her feet in amazement.  “Jurgis!” she gasped.

For a second or two they stood staring at each other.  “How did you come here?” Marija exclaimed.

“I came to see you,” he answered.

“When?”

“Just now.”

“But how did you know—­who told you I was here?”

“Alena Jasaityte.  I met her on the street.”

Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other.  The rest of the crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up and came closer to him.  “And you?” Jurgis asked.  “You live here?”

“Yes,” said Marija, “I live here.”  Then suddenly came a hail from below:  “Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along.  You’d best begin, or you’ll be sorry—­it’s raining outside.”

“Br-r-r!” shivered some one, and the women got up and entered the various doors which lined the hallway.

“Come,” said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was a tiny place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and a dressing stand and some dresses hanging behind the door.  There were clothes scattered about on the floor, and hopeless confusion everywhere—­boxes of rouge and bottles of perfume mixed with hats and soiled dishes on the dresser, and a pair of slippers and a clock and a whisky bottle on a chair.

Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings; yet she proceeded to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking the trouble to close the door.  He had by this time divined what sort of a place he was in; and he had seen a great deal of the world since he had left home, and was not easy to shock—­and yet it gave him a painful start that Marija should do this.  They had always been decent people at home, and it seemed to him that the memory of old times ought to have ruled her.  But then he laughed at himself for a fool.  What was he, to be pretending to decency!