"How could they talk of it aloud!" he wondered in agony, clasping
his hands and looking up to the sky in horror. "They talk aloud in
cold blood . . . and _maman_ laughed! . . . _Maman!_ My God, why
didst Thou give me such a mother? Why?"

But he had to go to the house, come what might. He walked three
times up and down the avenue, grew a little calmer, and went into
the house.

"Why didn't you come in in time for tea?" Madame Shumihin asked
sternly.

"I am sorry, it's . . . it's time for me to go," he muttered, not
raising his eyes. "_Maman_, it's eight o'clock!"

"You go alone, my dear," said his _maman_ languidly. "I am staying
the night with Lili. Goodbye, my dear. . . . Let me make the sign
of the cross over you."

She made the sign of the cross over her son, and said in French,
turning to Nyuta:

"He's rather like Lermontov . . . isn't he?"

Saying good-bye after a fashion, without looking any one in the
face, Volodya went out of the dining-room. Ten minutes later he was
walking along the road to the station, and was glad of it. Now he
felt neither frightened nor ashamed; he breathed freely and easily.