nd sending a thousand thanks for the kindness of the
invitation.

Sergius gave the excuse so pleasantly, in a manner so engagingly frank,
that Ivan readily accepted it, nor noticed how fixedly Irina was staring
down into her plate, while the four other young men sat in moody
silence, their faces--this their host did perceive--looking singularly
pallid and drawn.

Calling out for more candles and champagne--which were brought by two
footmen, hired, for the occasion, to serve the dishes which old Sosha
and the neighboring pastry-shop between them had concocted,--Ivan,
seconded by Sergius, who was in high spirits, set himself to bring life
to his party. He found this unexpectedly easy. In fact, after a minute
or two, one might almost have said that the hilarity became a little too
boisterous, that the laughter almost bordered on the hysterical, that
the humor seemed rather blurred for this stage of the evening. Then,
_presto!_ the room was in a nervous hush, while Irina lifted a quivering
glass to the candle-light, and, in a voice not her own, proposed a
toast:--The complete success of Yevgeny Burevsky's experiment, and--and
his speedy appearance among his waiting friends.

Ivan heard a breath, indrawn, run round the table like a hiss, and he
turned his eyes rather sharply on the girl as Sergius cried out:

"Come, are you all asleep?--Bottoms up--to Yevgeny's--success! May it
fulfil his highest hopes--and--ours!"

"Thank you, your wish is answered," came a voice from the doorway.

Irina gave a hoarse scream, and her glass, with its untouched contents,
dropped upon the table. Every man had started from his seat; but only
Ivan went forward, hands out-stretched, to greet the young fellow who
now came into the circle of light. He was carefully dressed, his blue
coat buttoned tightly below a well-laundered shirt, a crush hat held in
his hand, one lock of jet-black hair fallen over a forehead no more
bloodless than his lips, while out of his ghastly face gleamed a pair of
gray-green eyes that shone with a fixed brilliancy. One look at him, and
Ivan was exclaiming, anxiously:

"Yevgeny Alexandrovitch,--you're ill! My God, man, you should be in
bed!--come, sit down!"

But Burevsky laughed--hoarsely. "No, no. You will give me the best
medicine: a meal--company--a glass of wine. I've--I've been
working!--Sergius told you--?"

He broke off, waving a listless hand towards his friend. Ivan, touched
with pity, asked no more q