“Is Nejdanov not at home?” she asked, then catching sight of Solomin, came up to him and extended her hand.

“How do you do, Solomin?” She threw a side-glance at Mariana.

“He will be back directly,” Solomin said. “ But tell me how you came to know —”

“Markelov told me. Besides several people in the town already know that he’s here.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Somebody must have let it out. Besides Nejdanov has been recognised.”

“For all the dressing up!” Solomin muttered to himself. “Allow me to introduce you,” he said aloud, “Miss Sinitska, Miss Mashurina! Won’t you sit down?”

Mashurina nodded her head slightly and sat down. “I have a letter for Nejdanov and a message for you, Solomin.”

“What message? And from whom?”

“From someone who is well known to you . . . Well, is everything ready here?”

“Nothing whatever.”

Mashurina opened her tiny eyes as wide as she could.

“Nothing?

“Nothing.”

“Absolutely nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Is that what I am to say?”

“Exactly.”

Mashurina became thoughtful and pulled a cigarette out of her pocket.

“Can I have a light?”

“Here is a match.”

Mashurina lighted her cigarette.

“They expected something different,” she began, “Altogether different from what you have here. However, that is your affair. I am not going to stay long. I only want to see Nejdanov and give him the letter.”

“Where are you going to?

“A long way from here.” (She was going to Geneva, but did not want Solomin to know as she did not quite trust him, and besides a stranger was present. Mashurina, who scarcely knew a word of German, was being sent to Geneva to hand over to a person absolutely unknown to her a piece of cardboard with a vine-branch sketched on it and two hundred and seventy-nine roubles.)

“And where is Ostrodumov? Is he with you?”

“No, but he’s quite near. Got stuck on the way. He’ll be here when he’s wanted. Pemien can look after himself. There is no need to worry about him.”

“How did you get here?”

“In a cart of course. How else could I have come? Give me another match, please.”

Solomin gave her a light.

“Vassily Fedotitch!” A voice called out suddenly from the other side of the door. “Can you come out?”

“Who is it? What do you want?”

“Do come, please,” the voice repeated insistently. “Some new workmen have come. They’re trying to explain something, and Pavel Egoritch is not there.”

Solomin excused himself and went out. Mashurina fixed her gaze on Mariana and stared at her for so long that the latter began to feel uncomfortable.

“Excuse me,” Mashurina exclaimed suddenly in her hard abrupt voice, “I am a plain woman and don’t know how to put these things. Don’t be angry with me. You need not tell me if you don’t wish to. Are you the girl who ran away from the Sipiagins?”

“Yes,” Mariana replied, a little surprised.

“With Nejdanov?”

“Yes.”

“Please give me your hand . . . and forgive me. You must be good since he loves you.”

Mariana pressed Mashurina’s hand.

“Have you known him long?”

“I knew him in St. Petersburg. That was what made me talk to you. Sergai Mihailovitch has also told me —”

“Oh Markelov! Is it long since you’ve seen him?

“No, not long. But he’s gone away now.”

“Where to?”

“Where he was ordered.”

Mariana sighed.

“Oh, Miss Mashurina, I fear for him.”

“In the first place, I’m not miss. You ought to cast off such manners. In the second, you say . . . ‘I fear,’ and that you must also cast aside. If you do not fear for yourself, you will leave off fearing for others. You must not think of yourself, nor fear for yourself. I dare say it’s easy for me to talk like that. I am ugly, while you are beautiful. It must be so much harder for you.” (Mariana looked down and turned away.) “Sergai Mihailovitch told me . . . He knew I had a letter for Nejdanov . . . ‘Don’t go to the factory,’ he said, ‘don’t take the letter. It will upset everything there. Leave them alone! They are both happy . . . Don’t interfere with them!’ I should be glad not to interfere, but what shall I do about the letter?”

“Give it to him by all means,” Mariana put in. “How awfully good Sergai Mihailovitch is! Will they kill him, Mashurina . . . or send him to Siberia?”

“Well, what then? Don’t people come back from Siberia? And as for losing one’s life; it is not all like honey to everybody. To some it is sweet, to others bitter. His life has not been over- sweet.”

Mashurina gave Mariana a fixed searching look.

“How beautiful you are!” she exclaimed, “just like a bird! I don’t think Alexai is coming . . . I’ll give you the letter. It’s no use waiting any longer.

“I will give it him, you may be sure.”

Mashurina rested her cheek in her hand and for a long, long time did not speak.

“Tell me,” she began, “forgive me for asking . . . do you love him?”

“Yes.”

Mashurina shook her heavy head.

“There is no need to ask if he loves you. However, I had better be going, otherwise I shall be late. Tell him that I was here . . . give him my kind regards. Tell him Mashurina was here. You won’t forget my name, will you? Mashurina. And the letter . . . but say, where have I put it?

Mashurina ............