of Moscow, in the year 1833, in the house of his revered preceptor. I
wept...I felt faint... The weather was horrible...a fine rain trickled
down the window panes with a persistent, thin, little patter; damp,
dark-grey storm-clouds hung stationary over the town. I dined
hurriedly, made no response to the anxious inquiries of the kind German
woman, who whimpered a little herself at the sight of my red, swollen
eyes (Germans--as is well known--are always glad to weep). I behaved
very ungraciously to my preceptor...and at once after dinner set off to
Ivan Semyonitch... Bent double in a jolting droshky, I kept asking
myself whether I should tell Varia all as it was, or go on deceiving
her, and little by little turn her heart from Andrei... I reached Ivan
Semyonitch's without knowing what to decide upon... I found all the
family in the parlour. On seeing me, Varia turned fearfully white, but
did not move from her place; Sidorenko began talking to me in a
peculiarly jeering way. I responded as best I could, looking from time
to time at Varia, and almost unconsciously giving a dejected and
pensive expression to my features. The lieutenant started whist again.
Varia sat near the window and did not stir. 'You're dull now, I
suppose?' Ivan Semyonitch asked her twenty times over.

At last I succeeded in seizing a favourable opportunity.

'You are alone again,' Varia whispered to me.

'Yes,' I answered gloomily; 'and probably for long.'

She swiftly drew in her head.

'Did you give him my letter?' she asked in a voice hardly audible.