rkovna all the
windows were closed with shutters, with openings, in the form of
hearts, cut out in the middle. And all of the remaining houses on the
deserted street, desolated as though after a pestilence, were closed as
well. With a contracting heart Lichonin pulled the bell-handle.

A maid, barefooted, with skirt caught up, with a wet rag in her hand,
with face striped from dirt, answered the bell--she had just been
washing the floor.

"I'd like to see Jennka," timidly requested Lichonin.

"Well, now, the young lady is busy with a guest. They haven't waked up
yet."

"Well, Tamara then."

The maid looked at him mistrustfully.

"Miss Tamara--I don't know... I think she's busy too. But what you
want--to pay a visit, or what?"

"Ah, isn't it all the same! A visit, let's say."

"I don't know. I'll go and look. Wait a while."

She went away, leaving Lichonin in the half-dark drawing room. The blue
pillars of dust, coming from the openings in the shutters, pierced the
heavy obscurity in all directions. Like hideous spots stood out of the
gray murkiness the bepainted furniture and the sweetish oleographs on
the walls. It smelt of yesterday's tobacco, of dampness, sourness; and
of something else peculiar, indeterminate, uninhabited, of which places
that are lived in only temporarily always smell in the morning--such as
empty theatres, dance-halls, auditoriums. Far off in the city a droshky
rumbled intermittently. The wall-clock monotonously ticked behind the
wall. In a strange agitation Lichonin walked back and forth through the
drawing room and rubbed and kneaded his trembling hands, and for some
reason was stooping and felt cold.

"I shouldn't have started all this false comedy," he thought with
irritation. "It goes without saying that I've now become the by-word of
the entire university. The devil nudged me! And even during the day
yesterday it wasn't too late, when she was saying that she was ready to
go back. All I had to do was to give her for a cabby and a little pin
money, and she'd have gone, and all would have been fine; and I would
be independent now, free, and wouldn't be undergoing this tormenting
and ignominious state of spirits. But it's too late to retreat now.
To-morrow it'll be still later, and the day after to-morrow--still
more. Having pulled off one fool stunt, it must be immediately put a
stop to; but on the other hand, if you don't do that in time, it draws
two others after it, and they--tw