So fascinated was Ordynov by the solemnity of the scene that he awaited the end of it with impatience. After a moment or two the girl raised her head, and her beautiful face again shone clear under the light of the lamps. Ordynov trembled, and advanced a step or two, but she had now taken the old man’s arm, and was turning with him to leave the church. Hot tears were still welling from her dark-blue eyes (the long, pendant lashes of which stood out clearly against the creamy whiteness of her complexion), and running over her pale cheeks. True, there seemed to be a smile on her lips, but her face bore traces of a sort of childish, mysterious fear as, trembling with emotion, she clung confidingly to the old man’s arm.

Greatly agitated, and filled with a pleasurable sensation which he could not repress, Ordynov hastened after the couple, and overtook them on the church plaza. The old man turned towards him with a meaning scowl, and the girl too threw him a glance, but only an incurious one which clearly showed that her mind was occupied with something else. For some reason which he could not account for Ordynov still continued to follow the couple—though at a distance, and under cover of the fast-gathering twilight. Turning into a long, dirty street near the fortifications, in the artisan quarter—a crowded street full of lodging-houses and corn-chandlers’ establishments—they presently debouched into a narrow alley-way between two blank walls, and continued onwards until before them there rose the high, blackened walls of a four-storeyed building, the gates of which fronted upon a second long and populous street. As the three pedestrians approached this building the old man again turned round, and fixed Ordynov with an impatient stare. The young man halted, and stood rooted to the spot, for even to himself his impulse seemed a strange one. After giving him another look, as though to make sure that the silent menace had had its effect, the old man entered, with the young girl, the courtyard of the building, while Ordynov hastened to return homewards.

As he walked along he felt in a very bad humour, and severely reproached himself for having embarked upon a fatiguing expedition which had resulted only in the folly of painting an excessively trifling incident in all the colours of an adventure. Although, that morning, he had regretted having led such a secluded life, it was his instinct, rather, to avoid anything which could influence or distract or disturb his mind in its external and artificial world. Now, however, his mind turned gloomily, half-regretfully, to his solitary retreat, and he began to feel anxious and depressed about his indefinite position there, and all the worries which that involved. Also it irritated him to think that any such trifle could catch his attention. Indeed, it was only because he was so overcome with fatigue as to be incapable of properly connecting his ideas that at length he realised with a start that he had walked past the door of his abode. Irritably tossing his head at the thought that he had so far let his thoughts wander, and attributing his error to sheer weariness, he climbed the staircase, and entered his garret. There he lit a candle. Hardly, however, had he done so when the image of the young girl came back to his memory. So vivid, so strong was his impression of her—so eagerly did he, in his mind’s eye, set himself to trace the gentle, tender lines of the face which had been so agitated with fear, yet had had such a mysterious affection shining through the tears of its exaltation and childlike contrition—that his eyes smarted, and fire rushed into his veins. But presently the vision disappeared, and to his rapture there succeeded first reflection, then vexation, then a sort of impotent rage. Without removing his clothes, he covered himself over with a blanket, and lay down upon his rough pallet.