"No, you will not go," he went on, "because you think that she is
here. She died here--and you believe that she is not dead. I also will
not go--for my own reasons."

Then he jumped off his bed, stood upright against me, his clothes
touching mine. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"No, Mr., we will remain together. I find you really rather charming.
And you are changed, you know. You are not the silly fool you were
when you first came to us!"

I moved away from him. I could not bear the touch of his hand on my
shoulder. I had, I repeat, no fear of him. He might laugh at me or no
as he pleased, but I did not want his kindness.

"My beliefs seem to you the beliefs of a child," I said, trying to
speak more calmly. "Well, then, leave me to them. They at least do you
no harm. I love her now as I loved her when I first saw her. I cannot
believe that I shall never be with her again. But that is my own
affair and matters to no one but myself!"

He answered me: "You have a simple fashion of looking at things which
I envy you. I assure you that I am not laughing at you. You believe,
if I understand you, that after your death you will meet her again.
You are afraid that if I die before you she will belong to me, but
that if you die first you will be with her again as you were 'at the
beginning'?... Is not that so?"

I did not answer him.

"I swear to you," he continued, "that I am not mocking you. What my
own thoughts may be does not interest you, but I have not, in my life,
found many things or persons that are worth one's devotion, and she
was worthy of being loved as you love her. Such days as these in such
a place as this must bring strange thoughts to any man. When we return
to Mittoevo to-morrow night I assure you that you will see everything
differently."

He felt, I suppose, that he had been speaking too seriously because
the ironic humour with which he always treated me returned.

"Here, Mr., at any rate we are. I'm sorry for you--tiresome to be tied
to some one as uncongenial as myself--but be a little sorry for me,
too. You're not, you know, the ideal companion I would have chosen."

"Why did you come?" I asked him. "Durward was here--we were doing very
well--"

"Without me"--he caught me up. "Yes, I suppose so. But your
fascination is so strong that--" He broke off laughing, then continued
almost sharply: "Here we are anyway. To-night and to-morrow we are
going to be lively enough if I know anything about