her hand; she did not take it away, but only looked straight
into his face. "Listen!" he exclaimed with sudden force, "Listen!"

And instantly, without stopping to sit down, although there were two
or three chairs in the room, still standing before her and holding her
hand, with heated enthusiasm and with an eloquence, surprising even to
himself, he began telling her all his plans, his intentions, his
reason for having accepted Sipiagin's offer, about all his connections,
acquaintances, about his past, things that he had always kept hidden
from everybody. He told her about Vassily Nikolaevitch's letters,
everything--even about Silin! He spoke hurriedly, without a single pause
or the smallest hesitation, as if he were reproaching himself for not
having entrusted her with all his secrets before--as if he were
begging her pardon. She listened to him attentively, greedily; she
was bewildered at first, but this feeling soon wore off. Her heart was
overflowing with gratitude, pride, devotion, resoluteness. Her face and
eyes shone; she laid her other hand on Nejdanov's--her lips parted in
ecstasy. She became marvellously beautiful!

He ceased at last, and suddenly seemed to see THIS face for the first
time, although it was so dear and so familiar to him. He gave a deep
sigh.

"Ah! how well I did to tell you everything!" He was scarcely able to
articulate the words.

"Yes, how well--how well!" she repeated, also in a whisper. She imitated
him unconsciously--her voice, too, gave way. "And it means," she
continued, "that I am at your disposal, that I want to be useful to your
cause, that I am ready to do anything that may be necessary, go wherever
you may want me to, that I have always longed with my whole soul for all
the things that you want--"

She also ceased. Another word--and her emotion would have dissolved into
tears. All the strength and force of her nature suddenly softened as
wax. She was consumed with a thirst for activity, for self-sacrifice,
for immediate self-sacrifice.

A sound of footsteps was heard from the other side of the door--light,
rapid, cautious footsteps.

Mariana suddenly drew herself up and disengaged her hands; her mood
changed, she became quite cheerful, a certain audacious, scornful
expression flitted across her face.

"I know who is listening behind the door at this moment," she remarked,
so loudly that every word could be heard distinctly in the corridor;
"Madame Sipiagina is listening