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I was puzzled. ‘Leave you alone?’

‘Yes. I must, don’t you see, think over all you’ve just said, thoroughly…. I have no doubt you are right … but now leave me alone!’

‘You ‘re in such a state of excitement …’ I was beginning.

‘Excitement? I?’ Tarhov laughed, but instantly pulled himself up. ‘Yes, of course I am. How could I help being? You say yourself it’s no joking matter. Yes; I must think about it … alone.’ He was still squeezing my hands. ‘Good-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye!’

‘Good-bye,’ I repeated. ‘Good-bye, old boy!’ As I was going away I flung a last glance at Tarhov. He seemed pleased. At what? At the fact that I, like a true friend and comrade, had pointed out the danger of the way upon which he had set his foot–or that I was going? Ideas of the most diverse kind were floating in my head the whole day till evening–till the very instant when I entered the house occupied by Punin and Baburin, for I went to see them the same day. I am bound to confess that some of Tarhov’s phrases had sunk deep into my soul … and were ringing in my ears…. In truth, was it possible Baburin … was it possible he did not see she was not a fit match for him?

But could this possibly be: Baburin, the self-sacrificing Baburin–an honest fool!

* * * * *

Punin had said, when he came to see me, that I had been expected there the day before. That may have been so, but on this day, it is certain, no one expected me…. I found every one at home, and every one was surprised at my visit. Baburin and Punin were both unwell: Punin had a headache, and he was lying curled up on the sofa, with his head tied up in a spotted handkerchief, and strips of cucumber applied to his temples. Baburin was suffering from a bilious attack; all yellow, almost dusky, with dark rings round his eyes, with scowling brow and unshaven chin–he did not look much like a bridegroom! I tried to go away…. But they would not let me go, and even made tea. I spent anything but a cheerful evening. Musa, it is true, had no ailment, and was less shy than usual too, but she was obviously vexed, angry…. At last she could not restrain herself, and, as she handed me a cup of tea, she whispered hurriedly: ‘You can say what you like, you may try your utmost, you won’t make any difference…. So there!’ I looked at her in astonishment, and, seizing a favourable moment, asked her, also in a whisper, ‘What’s the meaning of your words?’ ‘I’ll tell you,’ she answered, and her black eyes, gleaming angrily under her frowning brows, were fastened for an instant on my face, and turned away at once: ‘the meaning is that I heard all you said there to-day, and thank you for nothing, and things won’t be as you ‘d have them, anyway.’ ‘You were there,’ broke from me unconsciously…. But at this point Baburin’s attention was caught, and he glanced in our direction. Musa walked away from me.

Ten minutes later she managed to come near me again. She seemed to enjoy saying bold and dangerous things to me, and saying them in the presence of her protector, under his vigilant eye, only exercising barely enough caution not to arouse his suspicions. It is well known that walking on the brink, on the very edge, of the precipice is woman’s favourite pastime. ‘Yes, I was there,’ whispered Musa, without any change of countenance, except that her nostrils were faintly quivering and her lips twitching. ‘Yes, and if Paramon Semyonitch asks me what I am whispering about with you, I’d tell him this minute. What do I care?’