ka, but my head aches very much,"
answered Jennka calmly, "and for that reason my little friend finds me
very cold. Be a friend, Mannechka, stay with him, take my place!"

"That's enough, Jennie, stop it, darling!" in a tone of sincere
suffering retorted Kolya. "I understand everything, everything, it's
not necessary now ... Don't be finishing me off, then! ..."

"I don't understand anything of what's happened," the frivolous Manka
spread out her hands. "Maybe you'll treat a poor little girl to
something?"

"Well, go on, go on!" Jennka sent her away gently. "I'll come right
away. We just played a joke."

Already dressed, they stood for long in the open door between the
bedroom and the corridor; and without words sadly looked at each other.
And Kolya did not understand, but sensed, that at this moment in his
soul was taking place one of those tremendous crises which tell
imperiously upon the entire life.

Then he pressed Jennie's hand hard and said:

"Forgive! ... Will you forgive me, Jennie? Will you forgive? ..."

"Yes, my boy! ... Yes, my fine one! ... Yes...yes..."

She tenderly, softly, like a mother, stroked his closely cropped harsh
head and gave him, a slight shove into the corridor.

"Where are you bound now?" she sent after him, half opening her door.

"I'll take my comrade right away, and then home."

"As you know best! ... God bless you, dearie!"

"Forgive me! ... Forgive me! ..." once more repeated Kolya, stretching
out his hands to her.

"I've already told you, my splendid boy...And you forgive me too...For
we won't see each other anymore!"

And she, having closed the door, was left alone.

In the corridor Gladishev hesitated, because he did not know how to
find the room to which Petrov had retired with Tamara. But the
housekeeper Zociya helped him, running past him very quickly, and with
a very anxious, alarmed air.

"Oh, I haven't time to bother with you now!" she snarled back at
Gladishev's question. "Third door to the left."

Kolya walked up to the door indicated and knocked. Some sort of bustle
and whispering sounded in the room. He knocked once more.

"Kerkovius, open! This is me--Soliterov."

Among the cadets, setting out on expeditions of this sort, it was
always agreed upon to call each other by fictitious names. It was not
so much a conspiracy or a shift against the vigilance of those in
authority, or fear of compromising one's self before a chance
acquaintance of the famil