On his return home, Volintsev was so gloomy and dejected, he gave his sister such listless answers, and so quickly locked himself up in his room, that she decided to send a messenger to Lezhnyov. She always had recourse to him in times of difficulty. Lezhnyov sent her word that he would come in the next day.

Volintsev was no more cheerful in the morning. After tea he was starting to superintend the work on the estate, but he stayed at home instead, lay on the sofa, and took up a book — a thing he did not often do. Volintsev had no taste for literature, and poetry simply alarmed him. ‘This is as incomprehensible as poetry,’ he used to say, and, in confirmation of his words, he used to quote the following lines from a Russian poet:—

‘And till his gloomy lifetime’s close
Nor reason nor experience proud
Will crush nor crumple Destiny’s
Ensanguined forget-me-nots.’

Alexandra Pavlovna kept looking uneasily at her brother, but she did not worry him with questions. A carriage drew up at the steps.

‘Ah!’ she thought, ‘Lezhnyov, thank goodness!’

A servant came in and announced the arrival of Rudin.

Volintsev flung his book on the floor, and raised his head. ‘Who has come?’ he asked.

‘Rudin, Dmitri Nikolaitch,’ repeated the man. Volintsev got up.

‘Ask him in,’ he said, ‘and you, sister,’ he added, turning to Alexandra Pavlovna, ‘leave us alone.’

‘But why?’ she was beginning.

‘I have a good reason,’ he interrupted, passionately. ‘I beg you to leave us.’

Rudin entered. Volintsev, standing in the middle of the room, received him with a chilly bow, without offering his hand.

‘Confess you did not expect me,’ began Rudin, and he laid his hat down by the window His lips were slightly twitching. He was ill at ease, but tried to conceal his embarrassment.

‘I did not expect you, certainly,’ replied Volintsev, ‘after yesterday. I should have more readily expected some one with a special message from you.’

‘I understand what you mean,’ said Rudin, taking a seat, ‘and am very grateful for your frankness. It is far better so. I have come myself to you, as to a man of honour.’

‘Cannot we dispense with compliments?’ observed Volintsev.

‘I want to explain to you why I have come.’

‘We are acquainted; why should you not come? Besides, this is not the first time you have honoured me with a visit.’

‘I came to you as one man of honour to another,’ repeated Rudin, ‘and I want now to appeal to your sense of justice. . . . I have complete confidence in you.’

‘What is the matter?’ said Volintsev, who all this time was still standing in his original position, staring sullenly at Rudin, and sometimes pulling the ends of his moustache.

‘If you would kindly . . . I came here to make an explanation, certainly, but all the same it cannot be done off-hand.’

‘Why not?’

‘A third person is involved in this matter.’

‘What third person?’

‘Sergei Pavlitch, you understand me?’

‘Dmitri Nikolaitch, I don’t understand you in the least.’

‘You prefer ——’

‘I prefer you should speak plainly!’ broke in Volintsev.

He was beginning to be angry in earnest.

Rudin frowned.

‘Permit . . . we are alone . . . I must tell you — though you certainly are aware of it already (Volintsev shrugged his shoulders impatiently)— I must tell you that I love Natalya Alexyevna, and I have the right to believe that she loves me.’

Volintsev turned white, but made no reply. He walked to the window and stood with his back turned.

‘You understand, Sergei Pavlitch,’ continued Rudin, ‘that if I were not convinced . . .’

‘Upon my word!’ interrupted Volintsev, ‘I don’t doubt it in the least. . . . Well! so be it! Good luck to you! Only I wonder what the devil induced you to come with this news to me. . . . What have I to do with it? What is it to me whom you love, or who loves you? It simply passes my comprehension.’

Volintsev continued to stare out of the window. His voice sounded choked.

Rudin got up.

‘I will tell you, Sergei Pavlitch, why I decided to come to you, why I did not even think I had the right to hide from you our — our mutual feelings. I have too profound an esteem for you — that is why I have come; I did not want . . . we both did not wish to play a part before you. Your feeling for Natalya Alexyevna was known to me. . . . Believe me, I have no illusions about myself; I know how little I deserve to supplant you in her heart, but if it was fated this should be, is it made any better by pretence, hypocrisy, and deceit? Is it any better to expose ourselves to misunderstandings, or even to the possibilities of such a scene as took place yesterday at dinner? Sergei Pavlitch, tell me yourself, is it?’

Volintsev folded his arms on his chest, as though he were trying to hold himself in.

‘Sergei Pavlitch!’ Rudin continued, ‘I have given you pain, I feel it — but understand us — understand that we had no other means of proving our respect to you, of proving that we know how to value your honour and uprightness. Openness, complete openness with any other man would have been misplaced; but with you it took the form of duty. We are happy to think our secret is in your hands.’

Volintsev gave vent to a forced laugh.

‘Many thanks for your confidence in me!’ he exclaimed, ‘though, pray observe, I neither wished to know your secret, nor to tell you mine, though you treat it as if it were your property. But excuse me, you speak as though for two. Does it follow I am to suppose that Natalya Alexyevna knows of your visit, and the object of it?’

Rudin was a little taken aback.

‘No, I did not communicate my intention to Natalya Alexyevna; but I know she would share my views.’

‘That’s all very fine indeed,’ Volintsev began after a short pause, drumming on the window pane with his fingers, ‘though I must confess it would have been far better if you had had rather less respect for me. I don’t care a hang for your respect, to tell you the truth; but what do you want of me now?’

‘I want nothing — or — no! I want one thing; I want you not to regard me as treacherous or hypocritical, to understand me . . . I hope that now you cannot doubt of my sincerity . . . I want us, Sergei Pavlitch, to part as friends . . . you to give me your hand as you once did.’

And Rudin went up to Volintsev.

‘Excuse me, my good sir,’ said Volintsev, turning round and stepping back a few paces, ‘I am ready to do full justice to your intentions, all that’s very fine, I admit,............