curve of the sky, with its multitude
of stars, was infinite.

"My friend embraced me and left me and I stayed alone, so happy, so sure
of the peace of the world that I did what I had not done for years, sent
up a prayer of gratitude to God. Then with my head on my hands, looking
down at the masts of the ships, feeling Petrograd behind me with its
lights as though it were the City of God, I burst into tears--tears of
happiness and joy and humble gratitude.... I have no memory of anything
further."

XII

So much for the way that one Russian saw it. There were others. For
instance Vera....

I suppose that the motive of Vera's life was her pride. Quite early, I
should imagine, she had adopted that as the sort of talisman that would
save her from every kind of ill. She told me once that when she was a
little girl, the story of the witch who lured two children into the wood
and then roasted them in her oven had terrified her beyond all control,
and she would lie awake and shiver for hours because of it. It became a
symbol of life to her--the Forest was there and the Oven and the
Witch--and so clever and subtle was the Witch that the only way to
outwit her was by pride. Then there was also her maternal tenderness; it
was through that that Markovitch won her. She had not of course loved
him--she had never pretended to herself that she had--but she had seen
that he wanted caring for, and then, having taken the decisive step, her
pride had come to her aid, had shown her a glimpse of the Witch waiting
in the Forest darkness, and had proved to her that here was her great
opportunity. She had then, with the easy superiority of a young girl,
ignorant of life, dismissed love as of something that others might care
for but that would, in no case, concern herself. Did Love for a moment
smile at her or beckon to her Pride came to her and showed her Nina and
Nicholas, and that was enough.

But Love knows its power. He suddenly put forth his strength and Vera
was utterly helpless--far more helpless than a Western girl with her
conventional code and traditional training would have been. Vera had no
convention and no tradition. She had only her pride and her maternal
instinct and these, for a time, fought a battle for her... then they
suddenly deserted her.

I imagine that they really deserted her on the night of Nina's
birthday-party, but she would not admit defeat so readily, and fought on
for a little. On this eventful week wh