any arguments that came into his mind, but now he no longer cared
for arguments; he felt profound compassion, he wanted to be sincere
and tender. . . .

"Don't cry, my darling," he said. "You've had your cry; that's
enough. . . . Let us talk now, let us think of some plan."

Then they spent a long while taking counsel together, talked of how
to avoid the necessity for secrecy, for deception, for living in
different towns and not seeing each other for long at a time. How
could they be free from this intolerable bondage?

"How? How?" he asked, clutching his head. "How?"

And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be
found, and then a new and splendid life would begin; and it was
clear to both of them that they had still a long, long road before
them, and that the most complicated and difficult part of it was
only just beginning.


A DOCTOR'S VISIT

THE Professor received a telegram from the Lyalikovs' factory; he
was asked to come as quickly as possible. The daughter of some
Madame Lyalikov, apparently the owner of the factory, was ill, and
that was all that one could make out of the long, incoherent telegram.
And the Professor did not go himself, but sent instead his assistant,
Korolyov.