not be entreating you ... I should not have come here. I want . . . I must . . . you

yourself said I ought to defend her memory!'

'And you were not in love with my sister?' Anna asked a second time.

Aratov did not at once reply, and he turned aside a little, as though in pain.

'Well, then ! I was ! I was — I 'm in love now,' he cried in the same tone of despair.

Steps were heard in the next room.

'Get up . . . get up . . .' said Anna hurriedly. 'Mamma is coming.'

Aratov rose.

'And take the diary and the photograph, in God's name ! Poor, poor Katia ! . . . But you will give me back the diary,' she added emphatically. 'And if you write anything, be sure to send it me. . . . Do you hear?'

The entrance of Madame Milovidov saved Aratov from the necessity of a reply. He had time, however, to murmur, 'You are an angel! Thanks! I will send anything I write. . . .'

Madame Milovidov, half awake, did not suspect anything. So Aratov left Kazan with the photograph in the breast-pocket of his coat. The diary he gave back to Anna; but, unobserved by her, he cut out the page on which were the words underlined.

On the way back to Moscow he relapsed