Kirilin was silent for a space, then he said distinctly and
emphatically:

"I repeat, madam, that if you do not give me an interview this
evening, I'll make a scandal this very evening."

"Let me off this evening," said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, and she did
not recognise her own voice, it was so weak and pitiful.

"I must give you a lesson. . . . Excuse me for the roughness of my
tone, but it's necessary to give you a lesson. Yes, I regret to say
I must give you a lesson. I insist on two interviews--to-day and
to-morrow. After to-morrow you are perfectly free and can go wherever
you like with any one you choose. To-day and to-morrow."

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna went up to her gate and stopped.

"Let me go," she murmured, trembling all over and seeing nothing
before her in the darkness but his white tunic. "You're right: I'm
a horrible woman. . . . I'm to blame, but let me go . . . I beg
you." She touched his cold hand and shuddered. "I beseech you. . . ."

"Alas!" sighed Kirilin, "alas! it's not part of my plan to let you
go; I only mean to give you a lesson and make you realise. And
what's more, madam, I've too little faith in women."

"I'm miserable. . . ."

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna listened to the even splash of the sea, looked
at the sky studded with stars, and longed to make haste and end it