the surface by the general tumult of her soul, showed themselves alive within her. . . . But the conviction I carried off at that moment was that the "new type" was still the same, still the same passionate, impulsive nature. . . . Only the impulses by which Musa was carried away were not the same as in the days of her youth. What on my first visit I had taken for resignation, for meekness, and what really was so--the subdued, lustreless glance, the cold voice, the quietness and simplicity--all that had significance only in relation to the past, to what would never return. . . .

Now it was the present asserted itself.

I tried to soothe Musa, tried to put our conversation on a more practical level. Some steps must be taken that could not be postponed; we must find out exactly where Baburin was; and then secure both for him and for Musa the means of subsistence. All this presented no inconsiderable difficulty; what was needed was not to find money, but work, which is, as we all know, a far more complicated problem. . . .

I left Musa with a perfect swarm of reflections in my head.

I soon learned that Baburin was in the fortress.

The proceedings began. . . . dragged on. I saw Musa several times every week. She had several interviews with her husband. But just at the moment of the decision of the whole