and, of course, as it seems to her, for the last time? Can
she be convinced of the necessity for parting? Does logic exist for her?

Always reverent before the firmness of the words and decisions of
Simanovsky, Lichonin, however, surmised and by instinct understood his
real relation to Liubka; and in his desire to free himself, to shake
off a chance load beyond his strength, he would catch himself in a
nasty little thought: "She pleases Simanovsky; and as for her, isn't it
all the same if it's he or I or a third? Guess I'll make a clean breast
of it, explain things to him and yield Liubka up to him like a comrade.
But then, the fool won't go. Will raise a rumpus."

"Or just to come upon the two of them together, somehow," he would
ponder further, "in some decisive pose... to raise a noise, make a
row... A noble gesture... a little money and... a getaway."

He now frequently, for several days, would not return home; and
afterwards, having come, would undergo torturesome hours of feminine
interrogations, scenes, tears, even hysterical fits. Liubka would at
times watch him in secret, when he went out of the house; would stop
opposite the entrance that he went into, and for hours would await his
return in order to reproach him and to cry in the street. Not being
able to read, she intercepted his letters and, not daring to turn to
the aid of the prince or Soloviev, would save them up in her little
cupboard together with sugar, tea, lemon and all sorts of other trash.
She had even reached the stage when, in minutes of anger, she
threatened him with sulphuric acid.

"May the devil take her," Lichonin would ponder during the minutes of
his crafty plans. "It's all one, let there even be nothing between
them. But I'll take and make a fearful scene for him, and her."

And he would declaim to himself:

"Ah, so! ... I have warmed you in my bosom, and what do I see now? You
are paying me with black ingratitude. ... And you, my best comrade, you
have attempted my sole happiness! ... O, no, no, remain together; I go
hence with tears in my eyes. I see, that I am one too many! I do not
wish to oppose your love, etc., etc."

And precisely these dreams, these hidden plans, such momentary, chance,
and, at bottom, vile ones--of those to which people later do not
confess to themselves--were suddenly fulfilled. It was the turn of
Soloviev's lesson. To his great happiness, Liubka had at last read
through almost without faltering: "A goo