As soon as it was convenient for him to do so, Nejdanov retired to his own room and locked himself in. He did not want to see anyone, anyone except Mariana. Her room was situated at the very end of a long corridor, intersecting the whole of the upper story. Nejdanov had only once been there for a few moments, but it seemed to him that she would not mind if he knocked at her door, now that she even wished to speak to him herself. It was already fairly late, about ten o’clock. The host and hostess had not considered it necessary to disturb him after what had taken place at the dinner table. Valentina Mihailovna inquired once or twice about Mariana, as she too had disappeared soon after dinner. “Where is Mariana Vikentievna?” she asked first in Russian, then in French, addressing herself to no one in particular, but rather to the walls, as people often do when greatly astonished, but she soon became absorbed in the game.

Nejdanov paced up and down the room several times, then turned down the corridor and knocked gently at Mariana’s door. There was no response. He knocked again — then he turned the handle of the door. It was locked. But he had hardly got back to his own room and sat down, when the door creaked softly and Mariana’s voice was heard: “Alexai Dmitritch, was that YOU, that came to me?

He jumped up instantly and rushed out into the corridor. Mariana was standing at his door with a candle in her hand, pale and motionless.

“Yes . . . I—” he murmured.

“Come,” she said, turning down the corridor, but before reaching the end she stopped and pushed open a low door. Nejdanov looked into a small, almost bare room.

“We had better go in here, Alexai Dmitritch, no one will disturb us here.”

Nejdanov obeyed. Mariana put the candlestick on a window-sill and turned to him.

“I understand why you wanted to see me,” she began. “It is wretched for you to live in this house, and for me too.”

“Yes, I wanted to see you, Mariana Vikentievna,” Nejdanov replied, “ but I do not feel wretched here since I’ve come to know you.”

Mariana smiled pensively.

“Thank you, Alexai Dmitritch. But tell me, do you really intend stopping here after all that has happened?”

“I don’t think they will keep me — I shall be dismissed,” Nejdanov replied.

“But don’t you intend going away of your own accord?”

“I . . . No!”

“Why not?”

“Do you want to know the truth? Because you are here.” Mariana lowered her head and moved a little further down the room.

“Besides,” Nejdanov continued, “I MUST stay here. You know nothing — but I want — I feel that I must tell you everything.” He approached Mariana and seized her hand; she did not take it away, but only looked straight into his face. “Listen!” he exclaimed with sudden force, “Listen!”

And instantly, without stopping to sit down, although there were two or three chairs in the room, still standing before her and holding her hand, with heated enthusiasm and with an eloquence, surprising even to himself, he began telling her all his plans, his intentions, his reason for having accepted Sipiagin’s offer, about all his connections, acquaintances, about his past, things that he had always kept hidden from everybody. He told her about Vassily Nikolaevitch’s letters, everything — even about Silin! He spoke hurriedly, without a single pause or the smallest hesitation, as if he were reproaching himself for not having entrusted her with all his secrets before — as if he were begging her pardon. She listened to him attentively, greedily; she was bewildered at first, but this feeling soon wore off. Her heart was overflowing with gratitude, pride, devotion, resoluteness. Her face and eyes shone; she laid her other hand on Nejdanov’s — her lips parted in ecstasy. She became marvellously beautiful!

He ceased at last, and suddenly seemed to see THIS face for the first time, although it was so dear and so familiar to him. He gave a deep sigh.

“Ah! how well I did to tell you everything!” He was scarcely able to articulate the w............