y, but rather a play, of its own kind, at
mysteriousness and disguise--a play tracing its beginning from those
times when the young people were borne away by Gustave Aimard, Mayne
Reid, and the detective Lecocq.

"You can't come in!" the voice of Tamara came from behind the door.
"You can't come in. We are busy."

But the bass voice of Petrov immediately cut her short:

"Nonsense! She's lying. Come in. It's all right."

Kolya opened the door.

Petrov was sitting on a chair dressed, but all red, morose, with lips
pouting like a child's, with downcast eyes.

"Well, what a friend you've brought--I must say!" Tamara began speaking
sneeringly and wrathfully. "I thought he was a man in earnest, but this
is only some sort of a little girl! He's sorry to lose his innocence,
if you please. What a treasure you've found, to be sure! But take back,
take back your two roubles!" she suddenly began yelling at Petrov and
tossed two coins on the table. "You'll give them away to some poor
chambermaid or other! Or else save them for gloves for yourself, you
marmot!"

"But what are you cursing for?" grumbled Petrov, without raising his
eyes. "I'm not cursing you, am I? Then why do you curse first? I have a
full right to act as I want to. But I have passed some time with you,
and so take them. But to be forced, I don't want to. And on your part,
Gladishev--that is, Soliterov--this isn't at all nice. I thought she
was a nice girl, but she's trying to kiss all the time, and does God
knows what..."

Tamara, despite her wrath, burst into laughter.

"Oh, you little stupid, little stupid! Well, don't be angry--I'll take
your money. Only watch: this very evening you'll be sorry, you'll be
crying. Well, don't be angry, don't be angry, angel, let's make up. Put
your hand out to me, as I'm doing to you."

"Let's go, Kerkovius," said Gladishev. "Au revoir, Tamara!"

Tamara let the money down into her stocking, through the habit of all
prostitutes, and went to show the boys the way.

Even at the time that they were passing through the corridor Gladishev
was struck by the strange, silent, tense bustle in the drawing room;
the trampling of feet and some muffled, low-voiced, rapid conversations.

Near that place where they had just been sitting below the picture, all
the inmates of Anna Markovna's house and several outsiders had
gathered. They were standing in a close knot, bending down. Kolya
walked up with curiosity, and, wedging his way