Novikoff stood at the window, silently watching the sunset. His mood
was a strange one, begotten of grief for what was lost, and of longing
for joy that was near. In this soft twilight he pictured to himself
Lida, sad, and covered with shame. If he had but the courage to do it,
this very moment he would kneel before her, with kisses warm her cold
little hands, and by his great, all-forgiving love rouse her to a new
life. Yet the power to go to her failed him.

Of this Sanine was conscious. He rose slowly, and said, "Lida is in the garden. Shall we go to her?"

Novikoff's heart beat faster. Within it, joy and grief seemed strangely
blended. His expression changed Somewhat, and he nervously fingered his
moustache.

"Well, what do you say? Shall we go?" repeated Sanine calmly, as if he
had decided to do something important. Novikoff felt that Sanine knew
all that was troubling him, and, though in a measure comforted, he Was
yet childishly abashed.

"Come along!" said Sanine gently, as taking hold of Novikoff's
shoulders he pushed him towards the door.

"Yes ... I ..." murmured the latter.

A sudden impulse to embrace Sanine almost overcame him, but he dared
not and could but glance at him with tearful eyes. It was dark in the
warm, fragrant garden, and the trunks of the trees formed Gothic arches
against the pale green of the sky.