something
from Merkulov--"

In the midst of these calculations the rhythmic cadences began to
reassert themselves. He stood still, as if rooted to the spot, with
fixed gaze. After a while his hands involuntarily found their way to the
table drawer, from which he pulled out a much-used copy-book. He dropped
into a chair with the same fixed look, humming softly to himself and
every now and again shaking back his wavy hair, began writing line after
line, sometimes scratching out and rewriting.

The door leading into the passage opened slightly and Mashurina's head
appeared. Nejdanov did not notice her and went on writing. Mashurina
stood looking at him intently for some time, shook her head, and drew
it back again. Nejdanov sat up straight, and suddenly catching sight of
her, exclaimed with some annoyance: "Oh, is that you?" and thrust the
copy-book into the drawer again.

Mashurina came into the room with a firm step.

"Ostrodumov asked me to come," she began deliberately.

"He would like to know when we can have the money. If you could get it
today, we could start this evening."

"I can't get it today," Nejdanov said with a frown. "Please come
tomorrow."

"At what time?"

"Two o'clock."

"Very well."

Mashurina was silent for a while and then extended her hand.

"I am afraid I interrupted you. I am so sorry. But then... I am going
away... who knows if we shall ever meet again... I wanted to say goodbye
to you."

Nejdanov pressed her cold, red fingers. "You know the man who was here
today," he began. "I have come to terms with him, and am going with him.
His place is down in the province of S., not far from the town itself."

A glad smile lit up Mashurina's face.

"Near S. did you say? Then we may see each other again perhaps. They
might send us there!" Mashurina sighed. "Oh, Alexai Dmitritch--"

"What is it?" Nejdanov asked.

Mashurina looked intense.

"Oh, nothing. Goodbye. It's nothing." She squeezed Nejdanov's hand a
second time and went out.

"There is not a soul in St. Petersburg who is so attached to me as
this eccentric person," he thought. "I wish she had not interrupted me
though. However, I suppose it's for the best."

The next morning Nejdanov called at Sipiagin's townhouse and was shown
into a magnificent study, furnished in a rather severe style, but
quite in keeping with the dignity of a statesman of liberal views. The
gentleman himself was sitting before an enormous bureau, piled