"I don't know. I don't know." Kseniya Ippolytovna raised her hands to
her head. "The Japanese, Naburu Kotokami, is still looking for me in
Paris and Nice... I wonder if he knows about Russia.... I have not
had a smoke for a whole week, not since the last little mouse died; I
smoked Egyptians before .... Yes, you are right, it is impossible not
to have faith."

Polunin went to her quickly, took her hands, then dropped them; his
eyes were very observant, his voice quiet and serious.

"Kseniya, you must not grieve, you must not."

"Do you love me?"

"As a woman--no, as a fellow-creature--I do," he answered firmly.

She smiled, dropped her eyes, then moved to the sofa, sat down and
arranged her dress, then smiled again.

"I want to be pure."

"And so you are!" Polunin sat down beside her, leaning forward, his
elbows on his knees.

They were silent.

Kseniya Ippolytovna said at last: "You have grown old, Polunin!"

"Yes, I have grown old. People do, but there is nothing terrible in