d to imprisonment.

Following Tamara came the turn of the naive, trusting, and amorous
Verka. For a long time already she had been in love with a
semi-military man, who called himself a civic clerk in the military
department. His name was Dilectorsky. In their relations Verka was the
adoring party; while he, like an important idol, condescendingly
received the worship and the proffered gifts. Even from the end of
summer Verka noticed that her beloved was becoming more and more cold
and negligent; and, talking with her, was dwelling in thought somewhere
far, far away. She tortured herself, was jealous, questioned him, but
always received in answer some indeterminate phrases, some ominous
hints at a near misfortune, at a premature grave ...

In the beginning of September he finally confessed to her, that he had
embezzled official money, big money, something around three thousand;
and that after five days he would be checked up, and that he,
Dilectorsky, was threatened with disgrace, the court, and finally, hard
labour ... Here the civic clerk of the military department burst into
sobs, clasping his head, and exclaimed:

"My poor mother! ... What will become of her? She will not be able to
sustain this degradation ... No! Death is a thousand times better than
these hellish tortures of a being guilty of naught."

Although he was expressing himself, as always, in the style of the dime
novels (in which way he had mainly enticed the trusting Verka), still,
the theatrical thought of suicide, once arisen, no longer forsook him.

Somehow one day he was promenading for a long time with Verka in Prince
Park. Already greatly devastated by autumn, this wonderful ancient park
glistened and played with the magnificent tones of the foliage,
blossoming out into colours: crimson, purple, lemon, orange and the
deep cherry colour of old, settled wine; and it seemed that the cold
air was diffusing sweet odours, like precious wine. And yet, a fine
impress, a tender aroma of death, was wafted from the bushes, from the
grass, from the trees.

Dilectorsky waxed tender; gave his feelings a free rein, was moved over
himself, and began to weep. Verka wept a bit with him, too.

"To-day I will kill myself!" said Dilectorsky finally. "All is over!
..."

"My own, don't! ... My precious, don't! ..."

"It's impossible," answered Dilectorsky sombrely. "The cursed money!
... Which is dearer--honour or life?!"

"My dear..."

"Don't speak, don'