ting you know--" "It does
not seem to depend on merit," Markelov continued, pretending not to
have heard Nejdanov, and purposely drawling out each word in a sing-song
voice, "no extraordinary spiritual or physical attractions.... Oh no!
It's only the damned luck of all... bastards!"

The last sentence Markelov pronounced abruptly and hurriedly, but
suddenly stopped as if turned to stone.

Nejdanov felt himself grow pale in the darkness and tingled all over. He
could scarcely restrain himself from flying at Markelov and seizing him
by the throat. "Only blood will wipe out this insult," he thought.

"I've found the road!" the coachman cried, making his appearance at
the right front wheel, "I turned to the left by mistake--but it doesn't
matter, we'll soon be home. It's not much farther. Sit still, please!"

He got onto the box, took the reins from Markelov, pulled the
shaft-horse a little to one side, and the carriage, after one or two
jerks, rolled along more smoothly and evenly. The darkness seemed to
part and lift itself, a cloud of smoke could be seen curling out of a
chimney, ahead some sort of hillock, a light twinkled, vanished, then
another.... A dog barked.

"That's our place," the coachman observed. "Gee up, my pretties!"

The lights became more and more numerous as they drove on.

"After the way in which you insulted me," Nejdanov said at last, "you
will quite understand that I couldn't spend the night under your roof,
and I must ask you, however unpleasant it may be for me to do so, to be
kind enough to lend me your carriage as soon as we get to your house to
take me back to the town. Tomorrow I shall find some means of getting
home, and will then communicate with you in a way which you doubtless
expect."

Markelov did not reply at once.

"Nejdanov," he exclaimed suddenly, in a soft, despairing tone of voice,
"Nejdanov! For Heaven's sake come into the house if only to let me
beg for your forgiveness on my knees! Nejdanov! forget... forget
my senseless words! Oh, if some one only knew how wretched I feel!"
Markelov struck himself on the breast with his fist, a groan seemed to
come from him. "Nejdanov. Be generous.... Give me your hand.... Say
that you forgive me!"

Nejdanov held out his hand irresolutely--Markelov squeezed it so hard
that he could almost have cried out.

The carriage stopped at the door of the house.

"Listen to me, Nejdanov," Markelov said to him a quarter of an hour
later in hi