te, Gania came up to
the fireplace where Aglaya was standing, to the right of the prince, and
in trembling, broken accents said, almost in her ear:

"One word, just one word from you, and I'm saved."

The prince turned sharply round and looked at both of them. Gania's
face was full of real despair; he seemed to have said the words almost
unconsciously and on the impulse of the moment.

Aglaya gazed at him for some seconds with precisely the same composure
and calm astonishment as she had shown a little while before, when the
prince handed her the note, and it appeared that this calm surprise and
seemingly absolute incomprehension of what was said to her, were more
terribly overwhelming to Gania than even the most plainly expressed
disdain would have been.

"What shall I write?" asked the prince.

"I'll dictate to you," said Aglaya, coming up to the table. "Now then,
are you ready? Write, 'I never condescend to bargain!' Now put your name
and the date. Let me see it."

The prince handed her the album.

"Capital! How beautifully you have written it! Thanks so much. Au
revoir, prince. Wait a minute,"; she added, "I want to give you
something for a keepsake. Come with me this way, will you?"

The prince followed her. Arrived at the dining-room, she stopped.

"Read this," she said, handing him Gania's note.

The prince took it from her hand, but gazed at her in bewilderment.

"Oh! I KNOW you haven't read it, and that you could never be that man's
accomplice. Read it, I wish you to read it."

The letter had evidently been written in a hurry:

"My fate is to be decided today" (it ran), "you know how. This day I
must give my word irrevocably. I have no right to ask your help, and I
dare not allow myself to indulge in any hopes; but once you said just
one word, and that word lighted up the night of my life, and became the
beacon of my days. Say one more such word, and save me from utter ruin.
Only tell me, 'break off the whole thing!' and I will do so this very
day. Oh! what can it cost you to say just this one word? In doing so you
will but be giving me a sign of your sympathy for me, and of your pity;
only this, only this; nothing more, NOTHING. I dare not indulge in any
hope, because I am unworthy of it. But if you say but this word, I will
take up my cross again with joy, and return once more to my battle with
poverty. I shall meet the storm and be glad of it; I shall rise up with
renewed strength.

"Send me