more intimate with Insarov. I used to meet him then at the house of a
relative, who had a daughter, a very pretty girl I thought that
Insarov cared for her, and I told him so. He laughed, and answered
that I was mistaken, that he was quite heart-whole, but if anything of
that sort did happen to him, he should run away directly, as he did
not want, in his own words, for the sake of personal feeling, to be
false to his cause and his duty. "I am a Bulgarian," he said, "and I
have no need of a Russian love----"

'Well--so--now you----' whispered Elena. She involuntarily turned away
her head, like a man expecting a blow, but she still held the hand she
had clutched.

'I think,' he said, and his own voice sank, 'I think that what I
fancied then has really happened now.'

'That is--you think--don't torture me!' broke suddenly from
Elena.

'I think,' Bersenyev continued hurriedly, 'that Insarov is in love now
with a Russian girl, and he is resolved to go, according to his word.'

Elena clasped his hand still tighter, and her head drooped still
lower, as if she would hide from other eyes the flush of shame which
suddenly blazed over her face and neck.

'Andrei Petrovitch, you are kind as an angel,' she said, 'but will he
come to say goodbye?'

'Yes, I imagine so; he will be sure to come. He wouldn't like to go