SOLOMIN rushed out to the factory gates as soon as he was informed that some sort of gentleman, with a lady, who had arrived in a cart, was asking for him. Without a word of greeting to his visitors, merely nodding his head to them several times, he told the peasant to drive into the yard, and asking him to stop before his own little dwelling, helped Mariana out of the cart. Nejdanov jumped out after her. Solomin conducted them both through a long dark passage, up a narrow, crooked little staircase at the back of the house, up to the second floor. He opened a door and they all went into a tiny neat little room with two windows.

“I’m so glad you’ve come!” Solomin exclaimed, with his habitual smile, which now seemed even broader and brighter than usual.

“Here are your rooms. This one and another adjoining it. Not much to look at, but never mind, one can live here and there’s no one to spy on you. Just under your window there is what my employer calls a flower garden, but which I should call a kitchen garden. It lies right up against the wall and there are hedges to right and left. A quiet little spot. Well, how are you, my dear lady? And how are you, Nejdanov?”

He shook hands with them both. They stood motionless, not taking off their things, and with silent, half-bewildered, half-joyful emotion gazed straight in front of them.

“Well? Why don’t you take your things off?” Solomin asked. “Have you much luggage?”

Mariana held up her little bundle.

“I have only this.”

“I have a portmanteau and a bag, which I left in the cart. I’ll go and —”

“Don’t bother, don’t bother.” Solomin opened the door. “Pavel!” he shouted down the dark staircase, “run and fetch the things from the cart!”

“All right!” answered the never-failing Pavel.

Solomin turned to Mariana, who had taken off her shawl and was unfastening her cloak.

“Did everything go off happily?” he asked.

“Quite . . . not a soul saw us. I left a letter for Madame Sipiagina. Vassily Fedotitch, I didn’t bring any clothes with me, because you’re going to send us . . . ” (Mariana wanted to say to the people, but hesitated). “They wouldn’t have been of any use in any case. I have money to buy what is necessary.”

“We’ll see to that later on . . . Ah!” he exclaimed, pointing to Pavel who was at that moment coming in together with Nejdanov and the luggage from The cart, “I can recommend you my best friend here. You may rely on him absolutely, as you would on me. Have you told Tatiana about the samovar?” he added in an undertone.

“It will soon be ready,” Pavel replied; “and cream and everything.”

“Tatiana is Pavel’s wife and just as reliable as he is,” Solomin continued. “Until you get used to things, my dear lady, she will look after you.”

Mariana flung her cloak on to a couch covered with leather, which was standing in a corner of the room.

“Will you please call me Mariana, Vassily Fedotitch; I don’t want to be a lady, neither do I want servants . . . I did not go away from there to be waited on. Don’t look at my dress — I hadn’t any other. I must change all that now.”

Her dress of fine brown cloth was very simple, but made by a St. Petersburg dressmaker. It fitted beautifully round her waist and shoulders and had altogether a fashionable air.

“Well, not a servant if you like, but a help, in the American fashion. But you must have some tea. It’s early yet, but you are both tired, no doubt. I have to be at the factory now on business, but will look in later on. If you want anything, ask Pavel or Tatiana.”

Mariana held out both her hands to him quickly.

“How can we thank you enough, Vassily Fedotitch?” She looked at him with emotion. Solomin stroked one of her hands gently. “I should say it’s not worth thanking for, but that wouldn’t be true. I had better say that your thanks give me the greatest of pleasure. So we are quits. Good morning. Come along, Pavel.”

Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone.

She rushed up to him and looked at him with the same expression with which she had looked at Solomin, only with even greater delight, emotion, radiance: “Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed. “We are beginning a new life . . . at last! At last! You can’t believe how this poor little room, where we are to spend a few days, seems sweet and charming compared to those hateful palaces! Are you glad?”

Nejdanov took her hands and pressed them against his breast.

“I am happy, Mariana, to begin this new life with you! You will be my guiding star, my support, my strength —”

“Dear, darling Aliosha! But stop — we must wash and tidy ourselves a little. I will go into my room . . . and you . . . stay here. I won’t be a minute —”

Mariana went into the other room and shut the door. A minute later she opened it half-way and, putting her head through, said: “Isn’t Solomin nice!” Then she shut the door again and the key turned in the lock.

Nejdanov went up to the window and looked out into the garden . . . One old, very old, apple tree particularly attracted his attention. He shook himself, stretched, opened his portmanteau, but took nothing out of it; he became lost in thought. . .

A quarter of an hour later Mariana returned with a beaming, freshly-washed face, brimming over with gaiety, and a few minutes later Tatiana, Pavel’s wife, appeared with the samovar, tea things, rolls, and cream.

In striking contrast to her gipsy-like husband she was a typical Russian — buxom, with masses of flaxen hair, which she wore in a thick plait twisted round a horn comb. She had coarse though pleasant features, good-natured grey eyes, and was dressed in a very neat though somewhat faded print dress. Her hands were clean and well-shaped, though large. She bowed composedly, greeted them in a firm, clear accent without any sing-song about it, and set to work arranging the tea things.

Mariana went up to her.

“Let me help you, Tatiana. Only give me a napkin.”

Don’t bother, miss, we are used to it. Vassily Fedotitch told me to. If you want anything please let us know. We shall be delighted to do anything we can.”

“Please don’t call me miss, Tatiana. I am dressed like a lady, but I am . . . I am quite —”

Tatiana’s penetrating glance disconcerted Mariana; she ceased.

“And what are you then?” Tatiana asked in her steady voice.

“If you really want to know . . . I am certainly a lady by birth. But I want to get rid of all that. I want to become like all simple women.”

“Oh, I see! You want to become simplified, like so many do nowadays.”

“What did you say, Tatiana? To become simplified?”

“Yes, that’s a word that has sprung up among us. To become simplified means to be like the common people. Teaching the people is all very well in its way, but it must be a difficult task, very difficult! I hope you’ll get on.”

“To become simplified!” Mariana repeated. “Do you hear, Aliosha, you and I have now become simplified!”

“Is he your husb............