Sideways, on Sarudine's bed, sat Lida, in despair, convulsively
twisting her handkerchief. As he came in he was struck by her altered
appearance. Of the proud, high-spirited girl there was not a trace. He
now saw before him a dejected woman, broken by grief, with sunken
cheeks and lifeless eyes. These dark eyes instantly met his, and then
as swiftly shunned his gaze. Instinctively he knew that Lida feared
him, and a feeling of intense irritation suddenly arose within him.
Closing the door with a bang, he walked straight up to her.

"You really are a most extraordinary person," he began, with difficulty
checking his fierce wish to strike her. "Here am I, with a room full of
people; your brother's there, too! Couldn't you have chosen some other
time to come? Upon my word, it is too provoking!"

From the dark eyes there shot such a strange flash that Sarudine
quailed. His tone changed. He smiled, showing his white teeth, and
taking Lida's hand, sat down beside her on the bed.

"Well, well, it doesn't matter. I was only anxious on your account. I
am ever so glad that you've come. I was longing to see you."

Sarudine raised her hot, perfumed little hand to his lips, and kissed
it just above the glove.

"Is that the truth?" asked Lida. The curious tone of her voice
surprised him. Again she looked up at him, and her eyes said plainly,
"Is it true that you love me? You see how wretched I am, now. Not like
I was once. I am afraid of you, and I feel all the humiliation of my
present state, but I have no one except you that can help me."