fficer in the hussars, a man in broken-down health, who had
been a great rake and spendthrift, and was a distant relation of
Pyotr Mihalitch. He was like one of the family at the Ivashins' and
had a tender, fatherly affection for Zina, as well as a great
admiration for her.

"I was coming to see you," he said, overtaking Pyotr Mihalitch.
"Get in; I'll give you a lift."

He was smiling and looked cheerful. Evidently he did not yet know
that Zina had gone to live with Vlassitch; perhaps he had been told
of it already, but did not believe it. Pyotr Mihalitch felt in a
difficult position.

"You are very welcome," he muttered, blushing till the tears came
into his eyes, and not knowing how to lie or what to say. "I am
delighted," he went on, trying to smile, "but . . . Zina is away
and mother is ill."

"How annoying!" said the police captain, looking pensively at Pyotr
Mihalitch. "And I was meaning to spend the evening with you. Where
has Zinaida Mihalovna gone?"

"To the Sinitskys', and I believe she meant to go from there to the
monastery. I don't quite know."

The police captain talked a little longer and then turned back.
Pyotr Mihalitch walked home, and thought with horror what the police
captain's feelings would be when he learned the truth. And Pyotr
Mihalitch imagined his feelings, and actually experiencing them
himself, went into the house.

"Lord help us," he thought, "Lord help us!"

At evening tea the only one at the table was his aunt. As usual,
her face wore the expression that seemed to say that though she was
a weak, defenceless woman, she would allow no one to insult her.
Pyotr Mihalitch sat down at the other end of the table (he did not
like his aunt) and began drinking tea in silence.

"Your mother has had no dinner again to-day," said his aunt. "You
ought to do something about it, Petrusha. Starving oneself is no
help in sorrow."

It struck Pyotr Mihalitch as absurd that his aunt should meddle in
other people's business and should make her departure depend on
Zina's having gone away. He was tempted to say something rude to
her, but restrained himself. And as he restrained himself he felt
the time had come for action, and that he could not bear it any
longer. Either he must act at once or fall on the ground, and scream
and bang his head upon the floor. He pictured Vlassitch and Zina,
both of them progressive and self-satisfied, kissing each other
somewhere under a maple tree, and all the ang