Ordynov could not await the end of the song. Yet he had hardly risen to his feet when the music ceased.

“It is neither ‘good-morning ‘ nor ‘good-afternoon’ that one must say to you, dearest one,” continued the voice, “but ‘ good-evening.’ Rise and come hither to our room. Come that I may have pleasure in your company. My protector and I are awaiting you, and are desirous of doing you a service. Pray, therefore, purge your love of all resentment (if still you feel any offence at the insult which has been done you), and come and talk to us.”

Ordynov rose at Katerina’s summons—though with no distinct idea in his mind beyond that, willy-nilly, he was going to his landlord’s room. Presently a door opened before him, and, as clear as sunlight, there burst upon his vision the smile of his marvellous inamorata. Nothing could he see or hear but her, and his heart felt ready to burst with joy.

“Twice the sun has risen since we met,” she said as she extended to him her hand. “Two dawns occur also in the heart of a young girl. The first dawn covers her face with the hue of virgin modesty, when her heart is beginning to awaken; the second dawn tinges it with the deeper hue of matured affection. Enter, then; enter, my dearest friend. Why should you halt upon the threshold? We tender you our love and honour. My protector also extends to you his greeting.”

With a musical laugh she took Ordynov by the hand, and compelled him to enter. He did so with downcast eyes, for she seemed to him so marvellously beautiful that he could scarcely bear the sight of her. Never before had she appeared so entrancing, now that her features were wreathed in open, sparkling merriment. Yet her hand shook a little as it lay in his, and, had he raised his eyes to hers, he would have seen there a triumphant smile.

“Do you too rouse yourself, old man,” she said, recovering herself with an effort. “Rise and greet our guest. A guest is a brother, and his host should rise to receive him. Salute our visitor, therefore, and tender him the right hand of good-fellowship.”

For the first time the fact of Murin’s presence occurred to Ordynov’s mind. In the old man’s eyes there was a dim look of pain, and he was staring at his visitor with the same infuriated, insensate expression which had struck Ordynov so forcibly before. Though lying only in a half-dressed state upon the bed, he had evidently been out during the day, since around his neck there was wrapped a scarlet comforter, and on his feet he was wearing a pair of boots. Clearly, too, he was recovering from his illness, though he still looked pale and wan. Katerina approached him, and, with one hand resting upon the table, looked him fixedly in the face. A smile which seemed to say that all that was being done was being done at her good pleasure never once left her lips.