lost the power of speech, and Tanya, looking at her father, had
uttered a heart-rending shriek and had fallen into a swoon. It was
hideous.

All this came back into his memory as he looked at the familiar
writing. Kovrin went out on to the balcony; it was still warm weather
and there was a smell of the sea. The wonderful bay reflected the
moonshine and the lights, and was of a colour for which it was
difficult to find a name. It was a soft and tender blending of dark
blue and green; in places the water was like blue vitriol, and in
places it seemed as though the moonlight were liquefied and filling
the bay instead of water. And what harmony of colours, what an
atmosphere of peace, calm, and sublimity!

In the lower storey under the balcony the windows were probably
open, for women's voices and laughter could be heard distinctly.
Apparently there was an evening party.

Kovrin made an effort, tore open the envelope, and, going back into
his room, read:

"My father is just dead. I owe that to you, for you have killed
him. Our garden is being ruined; strangers are managing it already
--that is, the very thing is happening that poor father dreaded.
That, too, I owe to you. I hate you with my whole soul, and I hope
you may soon perish. Oh, how wretched I am! Insufferable anguish
is burning my soul. . . . My curses on you. I took you for an
extraordinary man, a genius; I loved you, and you have turned out
a madman. . . ."