hile uttering
the most enthusiastic expressions about him, he kept asking himself
continually why he had such a high opinion of this man. He had not said
anything very brilliant and, in fact, some of his words were in direct
opposition to his (Nejdanov's) own convictions. "His head is screwed
on the right way," he thought. "A cool, steady man, as Fimishka said;
a powerful man, of calm, firm strength. He knows what he wants, has
confidence in himself, and arouses confidence in others. He has no
anxieties and is well-balanced! That is the main thing; he has balance,
just what is lacking in me!" Nejdanov ceased speaking and became lost in
meditation. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Alexai! What is the matter with you?" Mariana asked.

He took her tiny, strong hand from his shoulder and kissed it for the
first time. Mariana laughed softly, surprised that such a thing should
have occurred to him. She in her turn became pensive.

"Did Markelov show you Valentina Mihailovna's letter?" she asked at
last.

"Yes, he did."

"Well, and how is he?"

"Markelov? He is the most honourable, most unselfish man in existence!
He--"

Nejdanov wanted to tell Mariana about the portrait, but pulled himself
up and added, "He is the soul of honour!"

"Oh yes, I know."

Mariana became pensive again. She suddenly turned to Nejdanov on the
trunk they were both sitting on and asked quickly:

"Well? What have you decided on?"

Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders.

"I've already told you, dear, that we've decided nothing as yet; we must
wait a little longer."

"But why?"

"Those were our last instructions." ("I'm lying," Nejdanov thought to
himself.)

"From whom?"

"Why, you know... from Vassily Nikolaevitch. And then we must wait until
Ostrodumov comes back."

Mariana looked questioningly at Nejdanov. "But tell me, have you ever
seen this Vassily Nikolaevitch?

"Yes. I've seen him twice... for a minute or two.''

"What is he like? Is he an extraordinary man?"

"I don't quite know how to tell you. He is our leader now and directs
everything. We couldn't get on without discipline in our movement; we
must obey someone." ("What nonsense I'm talking!" Nejdanov thought.)

"What is he like to look at?

"Oh, he's short, thick-set, dark, with high cheek-bones like a
Kalmick... a rather coarse face, only he has very bright, intelligent
eyes."

"And what does he talk like?"

"He does not talk, he commands."

"Why did