earisome, prosaic light of an autumn day, this
adventure appeared to her as unnecessary bravado; something artificial,
imagined, and poignantly shameful. But she was equally sincere on that
strange, night-marish evening when she, through the might of talent,
had prostrated the proud Jennka at her feet, as well as now, when she
recalled it with fatigue, indolence, and artistic disdain. She, as well
as many distinguished artists, was always playing a role; was always
not her own self, and always regarded her words, movements, actions, as
though looking at herself from a distance with the eyes and feelings of
the spectators.

She languidly raised from the pillow her narrow, slender, beautiful
hand, and applied it to her forehead; and the mysterious, deep emeralds
stirred as though alive and began to flash with a warm, deep sparkle.

"I just read in your note that this poor ... pardon me, her name has
vanished out of my head..."

"Jennie."

"Yes, yes, thank you! I recall it now. She died? But from what?"

"She hanged herself ... yesterday morning, during the doctor's
inspection..."

The eyes of the artiste, so listless, seemingly faded, suddenly opened,
and, as through a miracle, grew animated and became shining and green,
just like her emeralds; and in them were reflected curiosity, fear and
aversion.

"Oh, my God! Such a dear, so original, handsome, so fiery ... Oh, the
poor, poor soul! ... And the reason for this was? ..."

"You know ... the disease. She told you."

"Yes, yes ... I remember, I remember ... But to hang one's self! ...
What horror! ... Why, I advised her to treat herself then. Medicine
works miracles now. I myself know several people who absolutely ...
well, absolutely cured themselves. Everybody in society knows this and
receives them ... Ah, the poor little thing, the poor little thing! ..."

"And so I've come to you, Ellena Victorovna. I wouldn't have dared to
disturb you, but I seem to be in a forest, and have no one to turn to.
You were so kind then, so touchingly attentive, so tender to us ... I
need only your advice and, perhaps, a little of your influence, your
protection..."

"Oh, please, my dear! ... All I can do, I will ... Oh, my poor head!
And then this horrible news. Tell me, in what way can I be of
assistance to you?"

"To confess, I don't know even myself yet," answered Tamara. "You see,
they carried her away to an anatomical theatre ... But until they had
made the protocol,