the devil; the second time, with chilly contempt, I informed him that
he was not capable of judging of our friendship--but I did not send him
away; and when, on taking leave of me, he observed that without
Kolosov's permission I didn't even dare to praise him, I felt annoyed;
Shtchitov's last words sank into my heart.--For more than a fortnight I
had not seen Varia.... Pride, love, a vague anticipation, a number of
different feelings were astir within me ... with a wave of the hand and
a fearful sinking at my heart, I set off alone to Ivan Semyonitch's.

I don't know how I made my way to the familiar little house; I remember
I sat down several times by the road to rest, not from fatigue, but
from emotion. I went into the passage, and had not yet had time to
utter a single word when the door of the drawing-room flew open and
Varia ran to meet me. 'At last,' she said, in a quavering voice;
'where's Andrei Nikolaevitch?' 'Kolosov has not come,' I muttered with
an effort. 'Not come!' she repeated. 'Yes ... he told me to tell you
that ... he was detained....' I positively did not know what I was
saying, and I did not dare to raise my eyes. Varia stood silent and
motionless before me. I glanced at her: she turned away her head; two
big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. In the expression of her face
there was such sudden, bitter suffering; the conflict between
bashfulness, sorrow, and confidence in me was so simply, so touchingly
apparent in the unconscious movement of her poor little head that it
sent a pang to my heart. I bent a little forward ... she gave a hurried
start and ran away. In the parlour I was met by Ivan Semyonitch. 'How's
this, my good sir, are you alone?' he asked me, with a queer twitch of
his left eyelid. 'Yes, I've come alone,' I stammered. Sidorenko went
off into a sudden guffaw and departed into the next room.

I had never been in such a foolish position; it was too devilishly