did not smile, and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast.
Their kiss was slow and prolonged, as though they had not met for
two years.

"Well, how are you getting on there?" he asked. "What news?"

"Wait; I'll tell you directly. . . . I can't talk."

She could not speak; she was crying. She turned away from him, and
pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.

"Let her have her cry out. I'll sit down and wait," he thought, and
he sat down in an arm-chair.

Then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him, and while he drank
his tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him.
She was crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that
their life was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret,
hiding themselves from people, like thieves! Was not their life
shattered?

"Come, do stop!" he said.

It was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be
over, that he could not see the end of it. Anna Sergeyevna grew
more and more attached to him. She adored him, and it was unthinkable
to say to her that it was bound to have an end some day; besides,
she would not have believed it!

He went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something