round.... For the first minute he
did not know Elena, but he went up to her at once. 'You! you here!' he
cried.

She walked back in silence into the chapel. Insarov followed Elena. 'You
here?' he repeated.

She was still silent, and only gazed upon him with a strange, slow,
tender look. He dropped his eyes.

'You have come from our house?' she asked.

'No... not from your house.'

'No?' repeated Elena, and she tried to smile. 'Is that how you keep your
promises? I have been expecting you ever since the morning.'

'I made no promise yesterday, if you remember, Elena Nikolaevna.'

Again Elena faintly smiled, and she passed her hand over her face. Both
face and hands were very white.

'You meant, then, to go away without saying good-bye to us?'

'Yes,' replied Insarov in a surly, thick voice.

'What? After our friendship, after the talks, after everything.... Then
if I had not met you here by chance.' (Elena's voice began to break, and
she paused an instant)... 'you would have gone away like that, without
even shaking hands for the last time, and you would not have cared?'

Insarov turned away. 'Elena Nikolaevnas don't talk like that, please.
I'm not over happy as it is. Believe me, my decision has cost me great
effort. If you knew----'

'I don't want to know,' Elena interposed with dismay, 'why you are
going.... It seems it's necessary. It seems we must part. You would not
wound your friends without good reason. But, can friends part like this?
And we are friends, aren't we?'

'No,' said Insarov.

'What?' murmured Elena. Her cheeks were overspread with a faint flush.

'That's just why I am going away--because we are not friends. Don't
force me into saying what I don't want to say, and what I won't say.'

'You used to be so open with me,' said Elena rather reproachfully. 'Do
you remember?'

'I used to be able to be open, then I had nothing to conceal; but
now----'

'But now?' queried Elena.

'But now... now I must go away. Goodbye.'

If, at that instant, Insarov had lifted his eyes to Elena, he would have
seen that her face grew brighter and brighter as he frowned and looked
gloomy; but he kept his eyes obstinately fixed on the ground.

'Well, good-bye, Dmitri Nikanorovitch,' she began. 'But at least, since
we have met, give me your hand now.'

Insarov was stretching out his hand. 'No, I can't even do that,' he
said, and turned away again.

'You can't?'

'No, I can't. Good-bye.' And he moved