t his friend, who is about to start on a journey. Another,
a tall man, lies on a sofa beside a table on which are empty bottles,
and plays with his watch-key. A third, wearing a short, fur-lined coat,
is pacing up and down the room stopping now and then to crack an almond
between his strong, rather thick, but well-tended fingers. He keeps
smiling at something and his face and eyes are all aglow. He speaks
warmly and gesticulates, but evidently does not find the words he wants
and those that occur to him seem to him inadequate to express what has
risen to his heart.

'Now I can speak out fully,' said the traveller. 'I don't want to
defend myself, but I should like you at least to understand me as I
understand myself, and not look at the matter superficially. You say I
have treated her badly,' he continued, addressing the man with the
kindly eyes who was watching him.

'Yes, you are to blame,' said the latter, and his look seemed to
express still more kindliness and weariness.

'I know why you say that,' rejoined the one who was leaving. 'To be
loved is in your opinion as great a happiness as to love, and if a man
obtains it, it is enough for his whole life.'

'Yes, quite enough, my dear fellow, more than enough!' confirmed the
plain little man, opening and shutting his eyes.

'But why shouldn't the man love too?' said the traveller thoughtfully,
looking at his friend with something like pity. 'Why shouldn't one
love? Because love doesn't come ... No, to be beloved is a misfortune.
It is a misfortune to feel guilty because you do not give something you
cannot give. O my God!' he added, with a gesture of his arm. 'If it all
happened reasonably, and not all topsy-turvy--not in our way but in a
way of its own! Why, it's as if I had stolen that love! You think so
too, don't deny it. You must think so. But will you believe it, of all
the horrid and stupid things I have found time to do in my life--and
there are many--this is one I do not and cannot repent of. Neither at
the beginning nor afterwards did I lie to myself or to her. It seemed
to me that I had at last fallen in love, but then I saw that it was an
involuntary falsehood, and that that was not the way to love, and I
could not go on, but she did. Am I to blame that I couldn't? What was I
to do?'

'Well, it's ended now!' said his friend, lighting a cigar to master his
sleepiness. 'The fact is that you have not yet loved and do not know
what love is.'

The man