'I suppose,' he answered, looking away, 'you want to say that you wish
to see him.'

Elena crimsoned, and scarcely audibly, she breathed, 'Yes.'

'Well, what then? That, I imagine, you can easily do.'--'Ugh!' he
thought, 'what a loath-some feeling there is in my heart!'

'You mean that I have already before . . .' said Elena. 'But I am
afraid--now he is, you say, seldom alone.'

'That's not difficult to get over,' replied Bersenyev, still not
looking at her. 'I, of course, cannot prepare him; but give me a
note. Who can hinder your writing to him as a good friend, in whom you
take an interest? There's no harm in that. Appoint--I mean, write to
him when you will come.

'I am ashamed,' whispered Elena.

'Give me the note, I will take it.'

'There's no need of that, but I wanted to ask you--don't be angry with
me, Andrei Petrovitch--don't go to him to-morrow!'

Bersenyev bit his lip.

'Ah! yes, I understand; very well, very well,' and, adding two or
three words more, he quickly took leave.