our friends into our conversation, hardly ever suspecting that we are
praising ourselves in that way), and only at times, when Elena's pale
cheeks flushed a little and her eyes grew bright and wide, he felt a
pang in his heart of that evil pain which he had felt before.

One day Bersenyev came to the Stahovs, not at the customary time, but
at eleven o'clock in the morning. Elena came down to him in the
parlour.

'Fancy,' he began with a constrained smile, 'our Insarov has
disappeared.'

'Disappeared?' said Elena.

'He has disappeared. The day before yesterday he went off somewhere
and nothing has been seen of him since.'

'He did not tell you where he was going?'

'No.'

Elena sank into a chair.

'He has most likely gone to Moscow,' she commented, trying to seem
indifferent and at the same time wondering that she should try to seem
indifferent.

'I don't think so,' rejoined Bersenyev. 'He did not go alone.'

'With whom then?'