hey do
not. You do not understand me: very well, very well, it is always the
same story. You women never do understand." He paused and it was
strange enough to see how the girlish face with the closed eyes and the
tightly clenched lips flushed and paled. "All that surprises me,"
continued Boris, "is that you came here at all. To be proper, we do not
need to come here. Yes, but that is always the way: we think that
together we stand on a very high plane, high above everything small and
foolish; we think that the great moment is coming now, for which we
have been waiting a lifetime; and then it comes to naught again, one is
alone after all, and you, you have stayed down below there in the world
of--of--Madame Bonnechose."

He was silent again, and Billy thought: "Was he laughing then?" There
had been something in his voice that sounded like that. She pressed her
eyelids more tightly together; not for the world would she have seen
that sad and proud smile of which she had always been afraid, even at
moments when she loved Boris most ardently. Boris took a few steps,
then stood still again: "Only load myself with responsibility, and have
nothing for it?--no thanks! Out of what could have been very beautiful
and great you make something ugly and silly. That's a game I won't
play. I don't understand being ridiculous, we Poles have no talent for
that." Again he paced awhile, again he waited; yes, he was waiting,
Billy knew he was, but not for a moment did the thought come to her
that she might open her eyes, speak to him, or call him back: she had
but one idea, to lie quite still and not move, then perhaps this too
would pass. Boris was now at the door; she heard the soft creaking of
the rusty hinges, and on the threshold he stopped to say in a voice
that sounded strangely alien and altered, the voice of a man who is all
alone somewhere or other, and who is speaking to himself sadly and
hopelessly, "No, not that, I am so tired of having nothing but
misunderstandings to live for." He went out and pulled the door to
again, and Billy heard him stride to and fro in the adjoining room, and
then fling himself on the old cracking sofa.

The thunderstorm was over, and a fine rain trickled down quietly and
evenly, beating quite gently on the window-panes. Billy still lay there
very quietly. Why should she move? Why should she open her eyes? Round
about her was nothing that belonged to her, nothing that partook of
her, nothing that sh