AT eleven o’clock in the morning—the hour at which Princess Ligovski is usually perspiring in the Ermolov baths—I walked past her house. Princess Mary was sitting pensively at the window; on seeing me she sprang up.

I entered the ante-room, there was nobody there, and, availing myself of the freedom afforded by the local customs, I made my way, unannounced, into the drawing-room.

Princess Mary’s charming countenance was shrouded with a dull pallor. She was standing by the pianoforte, leaning one hand on the back of an arm-chair; her hand was very faintly trembling. I went up to her softly and said:

“You are angry with me?”...

She lifted a deep, languid glance upon me and shook her head. Her lips were about to utter something, but failed; her eyes filled with tears; she sank into the arm-chair and buried her face in her hands.

“What is the matter with you?” I said, taking her hand.

“You do not respect me!... Oh, leave me!”...

I took a few steps... She drew herself up in the chair, her eyes sparkled.

I stopped still, took hold of the handle of the door, and said:

“Forgive me, Princess. I have acted like a madman... It will not happen another time; I shall see to that... But how can you know what has been taking place hitherto within my soul? That you will never learn, and so much the better for you. Farewell.”

As I was going out, I seemed to hear her weeping.

I wandered on foot about the environs of Mount Mashuk till evening, fatigued myself terribly and, on arriving home, flung myself on my bed, utterly exhausted.

Werner came to see me.

“Is it true,” he asked, “that you are going to marry Princess Mary?”

“What?&rdquo............