moving about the rooms together with it.

"'They did not expect her,' I thought.

"Returning to my hotel room I undressed, drank off a glass of red
wine, ate some fresh caviare which I had bought that day in the
bazaar, went to bed in a leisurely way, and slept the sound,
untroubled sleep of a tourist.

"In the morning I woke up with a headache and in a bad humour.
Something worried me.

"'What's the matter?' I asked myself, trying to explain my uneasiness.
'What's upsetting me?'

"And I put down my uneasiness to the dread that Kisotchka might
turn up any minute and prevent my going away, and that I should
have to tell lies and act a part before her. I hurriedly dressed,
packed my things, and left the hotel, giving instructions to the
porter to take my luggage to the station for the seven o'clock train
in the evening. I spent the whole day with a doctor friend and left
the town that evening. As you see, my philosophy did not prevent
me from taking to my heels in a mean and treacherous flight. . . .

"All the while that I was at my friend's, and afterwards driving
to the station, I was tormented by anxiety. I fancied that I was
afraid of meeting with Kisotchka and a scene. In the station I
purposely remained in the toilet room till the second bell rang,
and while I was making my way to my compartment, I was oppressed
by a feeling as though I were covered all over with stolen things.