in the room. Then he asked:

"And if I tell her?"

"What?" The brief question shot from Pavel like the discharge of a gun.

"That I am--" began the Little Russian in a subdued voice.

"Why?" Pavel interrupted.

The mother heard the Little Russian stop, and she felt that he smiled.

"Yes, you see, I consider that if you love a girl you must tell her
about it; else there'll be no sense to it!"

Pavel clapped the book shut with a bang.

"And what sense do you expect?"

Both were silent for a long while.

"Well?" asked the Little Russian.

"You must be clear in your mind, Andrey, as to what you want to do,"
said Pavel slowly. "Let us assume that she loves you, too--I do not
think so, but let us assume it. Well, you get married. An interesting
union--the intellectual with the workingman! Children come along; you
will have to work all by yourself and very hard. Your life will become
the ordinary life of a struggle for a piece of bread and a shelter for
yourself and children. For the cause, you will become nonexistent,
both of you!"

Silence ensued. Then Pavel began to speak again in a voice that
sounded softer:

"You had better drop all this, Andrey. Keep quiet, and don't worry
her. That's the more honest way."

"And do you remember what Alexey Ivanovich said about the necessity for
a man to live a complete life--with all the power of his soul and
body--do you remember?"

"That's not for us! How can you attain completion? It does not exist
for you. If you love the future you must renounce everything in the
present--everything, brother!"

"That's hard for a man!" said the Little Russian in a lowered voice.

"What else can be done? Think!"

The indifferent pendulum of the clock kept chopping off the seconds of
life, calmly and precisely. At last the Little Russian said:

"Half the heart loves, and the other half hates! Is that a heart?"

"I ask you, what else can we do?"

The pages of a book rustled. Apparently Pavel had begun to read again.
The mother lay with closed eyes, and was afraid to stir. She was ready
to weep with pity for the Little Russian; but she was grieved still
more for her son.

"My dear son! My consecrated one!" she thought.

Suddenly the Little Russian asked:

"So I am to keep quiet?"

"That's more honest, Andrey," answered Pavel softly.

"All right! That's the road we will travel." And in a few seconds he
added, in a sad and subdued voice: "It will be