“It’s bed-time, though,” said Burkin, getting up.  “Allow me to wish you good-night.”

Alehin said good-night and went downstairs to his own domain, while the visitors remained upstairs.  They were both taken for the night to a big room where there stood two old wooden beds decorated with carvings, and in the corner was an ivory crucifix.  The big cool beds, which had been made by the lovely Pelagea, smelt agreeably of clean linen.

Ivan Ivanovitch undressed in silence and got into bed.

“Lord forgive us sinners!” he said, and put his head under the quilt.

His pipe lying on the table smelt strongly of stale tobacco, and Burkin could not sleep for a long while, and kept wondering where the oppressive smell came from.

The rain was pattering on the window-panes all night.

ABOUT LOVE

AT lunch next day there were very nice pies, crayfish, and mutton cutlets; and while we were eating, Nikanor, the cook, came up to ask what the visitors would like for dinner.  He was a man of medium height, with a puffy face and little eyes; he was close-shaven, and it looked as though his moustaches had not been shaved, but had been pulled out by the roots.  Alehin told us that the beautiful Pelagea was in love with this cook.  As he drank and was of a violent character, she did not want to marry him, but was willing to live with him without.  He was very devout, and his religious convictions would not allow him to “live in sin”; he insisted on her marrying him, and would consent to nothing else, and when he was drunk he used to abuse her and even beat her.  Whenever he got drunk she used to hide upstairs and sob, and on such occasions Alehin and the servants stayed in the house to be ready to defend her in case of necessity.

We began talking about love.

“How love is born,” said Alehin, “why Pelagea does not love somebody more like herself in her spiritual and external qualities, and why she fell in love with Nikanor, that ugly snout—­we all call him ’The Snout’—­how far questions of personal happiness are of consequence in love—­all that is known; one can take what view one likes of it.  So far only one incontestable truth has been uttered about love:  ’This is a great mystery.’  Everything else that has been written or said about love is not a conclusion, but only a statement of questions which have remained unanswered.  The explanation which would seem to fit one case does not apply in a dozen others, and the very best thing, to my mind, would be to explain every case individually without attempting to generalize.  We ought, as the doctors say, to individualize each case.”

“Perfectly true,” Burkin assented.