'I know now what to think,' he observed; 'your face is the best
evidence against you. But I must tell you that that's not the way
honourable people behave.... To read a letter on the sly, and then to
go and worry an honourable girl....'

'Will you go to the devil!' I shouted, stamping, 'and send me a second;
I don't mean to talk to you.'

'Kindly refrain from telling me what to do,' Asanov retorted frigidly;
'but I certainly will send a second to you.'

He went away. I fell on the sofa and hid my face in my hands. Some one
touched me on the shoulder; I moved my hands--before me was standing
Pasinkov.

'What's this? is it true?' ... he asked me. 'You read another man's
letter?'

I had not the strength to answer, but I nodded in assent.

Pasinkov went to the window, and standing with his back to me, said
slowly: 'You read a letter from a girl to Asanov. Who was the girl?'

'Sophia Zlotnitsky,' I answered, as a prisoner on his trial answers the
judge.

For a long while Pasinkov did not utter a word.

'Nothing but passion could to some extent excuse you,' he began at