e blamed, he could not, on the other, agree with Mr. Kollomietzev's
embittered attack on people of an opposite camp, an attack, he felt
sure, that was only due to an over-amount of zeal for the general
welfare of society.

"Under my roof," he wound up, "under the Sipiagin's roof, there are
no Jacobins and no spies, only honest, well-meaning people, who, once
learning to understand one another, would most certainly clasp each
other by the hand!"

Neither Nejdanov nor Kollomietzev ventured on another word, but they
did not, however, clasp each other's hands. Their moment for a mutual
understanding had not arrived. On the contrary, they had never yet
experienced such a strong antipathy to one another.

Dinner ended in an awkward, unpleasant silence. Sipiagin attempted to
relate some diplomatic anecdote, but stopped half-way through. Mariana
kept looking down at her plate persistently, not wishing to betray her
sympathy with what Nejdanov had said. She was by no means afraid, but
did not wish to give herself away before Madame Sipiagina. She felt
the latter's keen, penetrating glance fixed on her. And, indeed,
Madame Sipiagina did not take her eyes either off her or Nejdanov. His
unexpected outburst at first came as a surprise to the intelligent
lady, but the next moment a light suddenly dawned upon her, so that she
involuntarily murmured, "Ah!" She suddenly divined that Nejdanov was
slipping away from her, this same Nejdanov who, a short time ago, was
ready to come to her arms. "Something has happened.... Is it Mariana? Of
course it's Mariana...She likes him... and he--"

"Something must be done." Thus she concluded her reflections, while
Kollomietzev was choking with indignation. Even when playing preference
two hours later, he pronounced the word "Pass!" or "I buy!" with an
aching heart. A hoarse tremulo of wounded pride could be detected in his
voice, although he pretended to scorn such things! Sipiagin was the only
one really pleased with the scene. It had afforded him an opportunity of
showing off the power of his eloquence and of calming the rising storm.
He knew Latin, and Virgil's Quos ego was not unfamiliar to him. He did
not consciously compare himself to Neptune, but thought of him with a
kind of sympathetic feeling.

XV

As soon as it was convenient for him to do so, Nejdanov retired to his
own room and locked himself in. He did not want to see anyone, anyone
except Mariana. Her room was situated