all.'

A short silence followed.

'Dmitri Nikanorovitch,' said Elena, 'do you know that this is the first
time you have been so unreserved with me?'

'How's that? I think I have always said everything I thought to you.'

'No, this is the first time, and I am very glad, and I too want to be
open with you. May I?'

Insarov began to laugh and said: 'You may.'

'I warn you I am very inquisitive.'

'Never mind, tell me.'

'Andrei Petrovitch has told me a great deal of your life, of your
youth. I know of one event, one awful event. . . . I know you
travelled afterwards in your own country. . . . Don't answer me for
goodness sake, if you think my question indiscreet, but I am fretted
by one idea. . . . Tell me, did you meet that man?'

Elena caught her breath. She felt both shame and dismay at her own
audacity. Insarov looked at her intently, slightly knitting his
brows, and stroking his chin with his fingers.

'Elena Nikolaevna,' he began at last, and his voice was much lower
than usual, which almost frightened Elena, 'I understand what man you