tion, though a great deal of
it she did not understand. What gratified her most was that she,
an ordinary woman, was talked to by a talented man on "intellectual"
subjects; it afforded her great pleasure, too, to watch the working
of his mobile, young face, which was still pale and angry. She
failed to understand a great deal that he said, but what was clear
to her in his words was the attractive boldness with which the
modern man without hesitation or doubt decides great questions and
draws conclusive deductions.

She suddenly realized that she was admiring him, and was alarmed.

"Forgive me, but I don't understand," she said hurriedly. "What
makes you talk of insincerity? I repeat my request again: be my
good, true friend; let me alone! I beg you most earnestly!"

"Very good; I'll try again," sighed Ilyin. "Glad to do my best. . . .
Only I doubt whether anything will come of my efforts. Either
I shall put a bullet through my brains or take to drink in an idiotic
way. I shall come to a bad end! There's a limit to everything--
to struggles with Nature, too. Tell me, how can one struggle against
madness? If you drink wine, how are you to struggle against
intoxication? What am I to do if your image has grown into my soul,
and day and night stands persistently before my eyes, like that
pine there at this moment? Come, tell me, what hard and difficult
thing can I do to get free from this abominable, miserable condition,
in which all my thoughts, desires, and dreams are no longer my own,
but belong to some demon who has taken possession of me? I love
you, love you so much that I am completely thrown out of gear; I've
given up my work and all who are dear to me; I've forgotten my God!
I've never been in love like this in my life."

Sofya Petrovna, who had not expected such a turn to their conversation,
drew away from Ilyin and looked into his face in dismay. Tears came
into his eyes, his lips were quivering, and there was an imploring,
hungry expression in his face.

"I love you!" he muttered, bringing his eyes near her big, frightened
eyes. "You are so beautiful! I am in agony now, but I swear I would
sit here all my life, suffering and looking in your eyes. But . . .
be silent, I implore you!"

Sofya Petrovna, feeling utterly disconcerted, tried to think as
quickly as possible of something to say to stop him. "I'll go away,"
she decided, but before she had time to make a movement to get up,
Ilyin was on his knees be