ndow pane. They yawned, stretched, and for a long time an
involuntary expression of wearisomeness and aversion did not leave
their faces, pale from sleeplessness, unwholesomely glossy. And when
they, before going their ways, said good-bye to each other, in their
eyes twinkled some kind of an inimical feeling, just as with the
participants of one and the same filthy and unnecessary crime.

"Where are you going right now?" Lichonin asked the reporter in a low
voice.

"Well, really, I don't know myself. I did want to spend the night in
the cabinet of Isaiah Savvich, but it's a pity to lose such a splendid
morning. I'm thinking of taking a bath, and then I'll get on a steamer
and ride to the Lipsky monastery to a certain tippling black friar I
know. But why?"

"I would ask you to remain a little while and sit the others out. I
must have a very important word or two with you."

"It's a go."

Yarchenko was the last to go. He averred a headache and fatigue. But
scarcely had he gone out of the house when the reporter seized Lichonin
by the hand and quickly dragged him into the glass vestibule of the
entrance.

"Look!" he said, pointing to the street.

And through the orange glass of the little coloured window Lichonin saw
the sub-professor, who was ringing at Treppel's. After a minute the
door opened and Yarchenko disappeared through it.

"How did you find out?" asked Lichonin with astonishment.

"A mere trifle! I saw his face, and saw his hands smoothing Verka's
tights. The others were less restrained. But this fellow is bashful."

"Well, now, let's go," said Lichonin. "I won't detain you long."

CHAPTER XII.

Of the girls only two remained in the cabinet-Jennie, who had come in
her night blouse, and Liuba, who had long been sleeping under cover of
the conversation, curled up into a ball in the large plush armchair.
The fresh, freckled face of Liuba had taken on a meek, almost
childlike, expression, while the lips, just as they had smiled in
sleep, had preserved the light imprint of a radiant, peaceful and
tender smile. It was blue and biting in the cabinet from the dense
tobacco smoke; guttered, warty little streams had congealed on the
candles in the candelabras; the table, flooded with coffee and wine,
scattered all over with orange peels, seemed hideous.

Jennie was sitting on the divan, her knees clasped around with her
arms. And again was Platonov struck by the sombre fire in her deep
eyes, that