candle-light) that the old
man was not looking at him at all, but steadfastly, and, of course,
ironically at Markovitch. The two regarded one another for a while, then
Markovitch, still moving with the greatest caution, slipped the
revolver back into his pocket, got a chair, climbed on to it and lifted
the picture down from its nail. He looked at it for a moment, staring
into the cracked and roughened paint, then hung it deliberately back on
its nail again, but with its face to the wall. As he did this his bare,
skinny legs were trembling so on the chair that, at every moment, he
threatened to topple over. He climbed down at last, put the chair back
in its place, and then once more turned towards Semyonov's door.

When he reached it he stopped and again took out the revolver, opened
it, looked into it, and closed it. Then he put his hand on the
door-knob.

It was then that Bohun had, as one has in dreams, a sudden impulse to
scream: "Look out! Look out! Look out!" although, Heaven knows, he had
no desire to protect Semyonov from anything. But it was just then that
the oddest conviction came over him, namely, an assurance that Semyonov
was standing on the other side of the door, looking through the little
window and waiting. He could not have told, any more than one can ever
tell in dreams, how he was so certain of this. He could only see the
little window as the dimmest and darkest square of shadow behind
Markovitch's candle, but he was sure that this was so. He could even see
Semyonov standing there, in his shirt, with his thick legs, his head a
little raised, listening...

For what seemed an endless time Markovitch did not move. He also seemed
to be listening. Was it possible that he heard Semyonov's breathing?...
But, of course, I have never had any actual knowledge that Semyonov was
there. That was simply Bohun's idea....

Then Markovitch began very slowly, bending a little, as though it were
stiff and difficult, to turn the handle. I don't know what then Bohun
would have done. He must, I think, have moved, shouted, screamed, done
something or other. There was another interruption. He heard a quick,
soft step behind him. He moved into the shadow.

It was Vera, in her night-dress, her hair down her back.

She came forward into the room and whispered very quietly: "Nicholas!"

He turned at once. He did not seem to be startled or surprised; he had
dropped the revolver at once back into his pocket. He came up to