to him, but her voice failed her. . . Insarov had already passed by
without raising his head.

'Dmitri Nikanorovitch!' she said at last.

Insarov stopped abruptly, looked round. . . . For the first minute he
did not know Elena, but he went up to her at once. 'You! you here!'
he cried.

She walked back in silence into the chapel. Insarov followed Elena.
'You here?' he repeated.

She was still silent, and only gazed upon him with a strange, slow,
tender look. He dropped his eyes.

'You have come from our house?' she asked.

'No ... not from your house.'

'No?' repeated Elena, and she tried to smile. 'Is that how you keep
your promises? I have been expecting you ever since the morning.'

'I made no promise yesterday, if you remember, Elena Nikolaevna.'

Again Elena faintly smiled, and she passed her hand over her face.
Both face and hands were very white.

'You meant, then, to go away without saying good-bye to us?'

'Yes,' replied Insarov in a surly, thick voice.