rtunes, interested though I was in the affair, I took no
account. I was in the strange position of possessing but two hundred
gulden, of being at a loose end, of lacking both a post, the means of
subsistence, a shred of hope, and any plans for the future, yet of
caring nothing for these things. Had not my mind been so full of
Polina, I should have given myself up to the comical piquancy of the
impending denouement, and laughed my fill at it. But the thought of
Polina was torture to me. That her fate was settled I already had an
inkling; yet that was not the thought which was giving me so much
uneasiness. What I really wished for was to penetrate her secrets. I
wanted her to come to me and say, "I love you," and, if she would not
so come, or if to hope that she would ever do so was an unthinkable
absurdity--why, then there was nothing else for me to want. Even now I
do not know what I am wanting. I feel like a man who has lost his way.
I yearn but to be in her presence, and within the circle of her light
and splendour--to be there now, and forever, and for the whole of my
life. More I do not know. How can I ever bring myself to leave her?

On reaching the third storey of the hotel I experienced a shock. I was
just passing the General's suite when something caused me to look
round. Out of a door about twenty paces away there was coming Polina!
She hesitated for a moment on seeing me, and then beckoned me to her.

"Polina Alexandrovna!"

"Hush! Not so loud."

"Something startled me just now," I whispered, "and I looked round, and
saw you. Some electrical influence seems to emanate from your form."

"Take this letter," she went on with a frown (probably she had not even
heard my words, she was so preoccupied), "and hand it personally to Mr.
Astley. Go as quickly as ever you can, please. No answer will be
required. He himself--" She did not finish her sentence.

"To Mr. Astley?" I asked, in some astonishment.

But she had vanished again.

Aha! So the two were carrying on a correspondence! However, I set off
to search for Astley--first at his hotel, and then at the Casino, where
I went the round of the salons in vain. At length, vexed, and almost in
despair, I was on my way home when I ran across him among a troop of
English ladies and gentlemen who had been out for a ride. Beckoning to
him to stop, I handed him the letter. We had barely time even to look
at one another, but I suspected that it was of set purpose that