ng forced into! You do not know
the struggle I have made! You don't know what I endured before I
consented to receive Colonel Brodsky's help, two years ago; and again,
before I would let him visit me in Petersburg; and then before I came
here--_here_, to this place, where every man in the camp thinks me--Oh!
I believe, now, that _that_ is why my father insisted:--that, knowing
what every one thought of me, I might become reckless, and--let go. But
I will not--never!--for _that_ creature!" Irina's eyes blazed and her
voice grew vibrant with passionate anger.

"Pardon, Lieutenant. I will try to tell the story quietly, now. You must
know that we are very poor. My mother is dead; my brother in Moscow; and
I was left to keep the three rooms that my father could afford to rent
with his wages from the orchestra and the few lessons he gives. Two
years ago, when I was sixteen, they discovered that I had a voice. My
father, delighted, first gave me lessons himself; and then took me to
the Conservatoire, to Zaremba, I hoped there to get a scholarship. But
somehow my voice didn't develop as they hoped; and, at the competition,
I failed. I was in despair. We already owed money for my lessons; and
there was no hope of my earning anything. All my work seemed wasted. It
was then, of course, that Colonel Brodsky--he had just had his
promotion--came to my father about me.--He had been watching me for
months, he says.--At that time, I knew nothing about it:--about the
horrible promises my father made him, when he proposed to finish my
musical education, and secure me a debut at the opera.--They say now
that my voice isn't nearly big enough for great parts. But at that time,
I never knew this. I planned all sorts of splendid things that I was to
do as a prima-donna; and I never dreamed that I couldn't pay everything
I owed to--_him_!

"And now--" she gave a dreary little laugh--"now, look at me! I've not
only ruined myself and my father, but even a whole regiment!--My God,
Monsieur Gregoriev, what can I do? I have refused and refused and
refused that hideous man. But my father owes him nearly five thousand
roubles for my lessons and my theatrical wardrobe; and we cannot
possibly pay him. He is willing to cancel the debt in another way:--the
way you know. In fact, that is what he has intended all along. My father
cares nothing for my feelings. He is as furious with me as is Brodsky.
And I can't imagine how I have managed to keep away from