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?’

‘Be more careful,’ I besought her. ‘I really believe they are noticing.’

‘I tell you, I’m quite ready to tell them everything. And who’s noticing? One’s stretching his neck off the pillow, like a sick duck, and hears nothing; and the other’s deep in philosophy. Don’t you be afraid!’ Musa’s voice rose a little, and her cheeks gradually flushed a sort of malignant, dusky red; and this suited her marvellously, and never had she been so pretty. As she cleared the table, and set the cups and saucers in their places, she moved swiftly about the room; there was something challenging about her light, free and easy movement. ‘You may criticise me as you like,’ she seemed to say; ‘but I’m going my own way, and I’m not afraid of you.’

I cannot disguise the fact that I found Musa bewitching just that

evening. ‘Yes,’ I mused; ‘she’s a little spitfire—she’s a new type….

She’s—exquisite. Those hands know how to deal a blow, I dare say….

What of it! No matter!’

‘Paramon Semyonitch,’ she cried suddenly, ‘isn’t a republic an empire in which every one does as he chooses?’

‘A republic is not an empire,’ answered Baburin, raising his head, and contracting his brows; ‘it is a … form of society in which everything rests on law and justice.’

‘Then,’ Musa pursued, ‘in a republic no one can oppress any one else?’

‘No.’

‘And every one is free to dispose of himself?’

‘Quite free.’

‘Ah! that’s all I wanted to know.’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Oh, I wanted to—I wanted you to tell me that.’

‘Our young lady is anxious to learn,’ Punin observed from the sofa.

When I went out into the passage Musa accompanied me, not, of course, from politeness, but with the same malicious intent. I asked her, as I took leave, ‘Can you really love him so much?’

‘Whether I love him, or whether I don’t, that’s my affair,’ she answered. ‘What is to be, will be.’

‘Mind what you’re about; don’t play with fire … you’ll get burnt.’

‘Better be burnt than frozen. You … with your good advice! And how can you tell he won’t marry me? How do you know I so particularly want to get married? If I am ruined … what business is it of yours?’

She slammed the door after me.

I remember that on the way home I reflected with some pleasure that my friend Vladimir Tarhov might find things rather hot for him with his new type…. He ought to have to pay something for his happiness!

That he would be happy, I was—regretfully—unable to doubt.

Three days passed by. I was sitting in my room at my writing-table, and not so much working as getting myself ready for lunch…. I heard a rustle, lifted my head, and I was stupefied. Before me—rigid, terrible, white as chalk, stood an apparition … Punin. His half-closed eyes were looking at me, blinking slowly; they expressed a senseless terror, the terror of a frightened hare, and his arms hung at his sides like sticks.

‘Nikander Vavilitch! what is the matter with you? How did you come here?

Did no one see you? What has happened? Do speak!’

‘She has run away,’ Punin articulated in a hoarse, hardly audible voice.

‘What do you say?’

‘She has run away,’ he repeated.

‘Who?’

‘Musa. She went away in the night, and left a note.’

‘A note?’

‘Yes. «I thank you,» she said, «but I am not coming back again. Don’t look for me.» We ran up and down; we questioned the cook; she knew nothing. I can’t speak loud; you must excuse me. I’ve lost my voice.’

‘Musa Pavlovna has left you!’ I exclaimed. ‘Nonsense! Mr. Baburin must be in despair. What does he intend to do now?’

‘He has no intention of doing anything. I wanted to run to the Governor-general: he forbade it. I wanted to give information to the police; he forbade that too, and got very angry. He says, «She’s free.» He says, «I don’t want to constrain her.» He has even gone to work, to his office. But he looks more dead than alive. He loved her terribly….Oh, oh, we both loved her!’

Here Punin for the first time showed that he was not a wooden image, but a live man; he lifted both his fists in the air, and brought them down on his pate, which shone like ivory.

‘Ungrateful girl!’ he groaned; ‘who was it gave you food and drink, clothed you, and brought you up? who cared for you, would have given all his life, all his soul … And you have forgotten it all? To cast me off, truly, were no great matter, but Paramon Semyonitch, Paramon …’

I begged him to sit down, to rest.

Punin shook his head. ‘No, I won’t. I have come to you … I don’t know what for. I’m like one distraught; to stay at home alone is fearful; what am I to do with myself? I stand in the middle of the room, shut my eyes, and call, «Musa! Musotchka!» That’s the way to go out of one’s mind. But no, why am I talking nonsense? I know why I have come to you. You know, the other day you read me that thrice-accursed poem … you remember, where there is talk of an old husband. What did you do that for? Did you know something then … or guessed something?’ Punin glanced at me. ‘Piotr Petrovitch,’ he cried suddenly, and he began trembling all over, ‘you know, perhaps, where she is. Kind friend, tell me whom she has gone to!’

I was disconcerted, and could not help dropping my eyes….

‘Perhaps she said something in her letter,’ I began….

‘She said she was leaving us because she loved some one else! Dear, good friend, you know, surely, where she is? Save her, let us go to her; we will persuade her. Only think what a man she’s bringing to ruin.’

Punin all at once flushed crimson, the blood seemed to rush to his head, he plumped heavily down on his knees. ‘Save us, friend, let us go to her.’

My servant appeared in the doorway, and stood still in amazement.

I had no little trouble to get Punin on to his feet again, to convince him that, even if I did suspect something, still it would not do to act like that, on the spur of the moment, especially both together—that would only spoil all our efforts—that I was ready to do my best, but would not answer for anything. Punin did not oppose me, nor did he indeed hear me; he only repeated from time to time in his broken voice, ‘Save her, save her and Paramon Semyonitch.’ At last he began to cry. ‘Tell me at least one thing,’ he asked … ‘is he handsome, young?’

‘Yes, he is young,’ I answered.

‘He is young,’ repeated Punin, smearing the tears over his cheeks; ‘and she is young…. It’s from that that all the trouble’s sprung!’

This rhyme came by chance; poor Punin was in no mood for versifying. I would have given a good deal to hear his rhapsodical eloquence again, or even his almost noiseless laugh…. Alas! his eloquence was quenched for ever, and I never heard his laugh again.

I promised to let him know, as soon as I should find out anything positive…. Tarhov’s name I did not, however, mention. Punin suddenly collapsed completely. ‘Very good, very good, sir, thank you,’ he said with a pitiful face, using the word ‘sir,’ which he had never done before; ‘only mind, sir, do not say anything to Paramon Semyonitch … or he’ll be angry. In one word, he has forbidden it. Good-bye, sir.’

As he got up and turned his back to me, Punin struck me as such a poor feeble creature, that I positively marvelled; he limped with both legs, and doubled up at each step….

‘It’s a bad look-out. It’s the end of him, that’s what it means,’

I thought.

* * * * *

Though I had promised Punin to trace Musa, yet as I set off the same day to Tarhov’s, I had not the slightest expectation of learning anything, as I considered it certain that either I should not find him at home, or that he would refuse to see me. My supposition turned out to be a mistaken one. I found Tarhov