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Aratoff did not reply at once, and turned away slightly, as though with pain.

“Well, yes! I was! I was!–And I am in love with her now….” he exclaimed with the same desperation as before.

Footsteps became audible in the adjoining room.

“Rise … rise …” said Anna hastily. “My mother is coming.”

Aratoff rose.

“And take the diary and the picture. God be with you!–Poor, poor Katya!… But you must return the diary to me,” she added with animation.–“And if you write anything, you must be sure to send it to me…. Do you hear?”

The appearance of Madame Milovidoff released Aratoff from the necessity of replying.–He succeeded, nevertheless, in whispering:–“You are an angel! Thanks! I will send all that I write….”

Madame Milovidoff was too drowsy to divine anything. And so Aratoff left Kazan with the photographic portrait in the side-pocket of his coat. He had returned the copy-book to Anna, but without her having detected it, he had cut out the page on which stood the underlined words.

On his way back to Moscow he was again seized with a sort of stupor. Although he secretly rejoiced that he had got what he went for, yet he repelled all thoughts of Clara until he should reach home again. He meditated a great deal more about her sister Anna.–“Here now,” he said to himself, “is a wonderful, sympathetic being! What a delicate comprehension of everything, what a loving heart, what absence of egoism! And how comes it that such girls bloom with us, and in the provinces,–and in such surroundings into the bargain! She is both sickly, and ill-favoured, and not young,–but what a capital wife she would make for an honest, well-educated man! That is the person with whom one ought to fall in love!…” Aratoff meditated thus … but on his arrival in Moscow the matter took quite another turn.

XIV

Platonida Ivanova was unspeakably delighted at the return of her nephew. She had thought all sorts of things during his absence!–“At the very least he has gone to Siberia!” she whispered, as she sat motionless in her little chamber: “for a year at the very least!”–Moreover the cook had frightened her by imparting the most authentic news concerning the disappearance of first one, then another young man from the neighbourhood. Yasha’s complete innocence and trustworthiness did not in the least serve to calm the old woman.–“Because … much that signifies!–he busies himself with photography … well, and that is enough! Seize him!” And now here was her Yashenka come back to her safe and sound! She did notice, it is true, that he appeared to have grown thin, and his face seemed to be sunken–that was comprehensible … he had had no one to look after him. But she did not dare to question him concerning his trip. At dinner she inquired:

“And is Kazan a nice town?”

“Yes,” replied Aratoff.

“Tatars live there, I believe?”

“Not Tatars only.”

“And hast not thou brought a khalat[65] thence?”

FOOTNOTE:
[65] The long Tatar coat, with large sleeves,
and flaring, bias skirts.—TRANSLATOR.

“No, I have not.”

And there the conversation ended.

But as soon as Aratoff found himself alone in his study he immediately felt as though something were embracing him round about, as though he were again in the power,–precisely that, in the power of another life, of another being. Although he had told Anna–in that outburst of sudden frenzy–that he was in love with Clara, that word now seemed to him devoid of sense and whimsical.–No, he was not in love; and how could he fall in love with a dead woman, whom, even during her lifetime he had not liked, whom he had almost forgotten?–No! But he was in the power of … in her power … he no longer belonged to himself. He had been taken possession of. Taken possession of to such a point that he was no longer trying to free himself either by ridiculing his own stupidity, or by arousing in himself if not confidence, at least hope that all this would pass over, that it was nothing but nerves,–or by seeking proofs of it,–or in any other way!–“If I meet him I shall take him” he recalled Clara’s words reported by Anna … and so now he had been taken.