FIRST they clasped each other’s hands, then Mariana offered to help him tidy his room. She immediately began unpacking his portmanteau and bag, declining his offer of help on the ground that she must get used to work and wished to do it all herself. She hung his clothes on nails which she discovered in the table drawer and knocked into the wall with the back of a hairbrush for want of a hammer. Then she arranged his linen in a little old chest of drawers standing in between the two windows.

“What is this? “ she asked suddenly. “Why, it’s a revolver. Is it loaded? What do you want it for?”

“It is not loaded . . . but you had better give it to me. You want to know why I have it? How can one get on without a revolver in our calling?”

She laughed and went on with her work, shaking each thing out separately and beating it with her hand; she even stood two pairs of boots under the sofa; the few books, packet of papers, and tiny copy-book of verses she placed triumphantly upon a three- cornered table, calling it a writing and work table, while the other, a round one, she called a dining and tea table. Then she took up the copy-book of verses in both hands and, raising it on a level with her face, looked over the edge at Nejdanov and said with a smile:

“We will read this together when we have some time to spare, won’t we?

“Give it to me! I’ll burn it!” Nejdanov burst out. “That’s all it’s fit for!

“Then why did you take it with you? No, I won’t let you burn it. However, authors are always threatening to burn their things, but they never do. I will put it in my room.”

Nejdanov was just about to protest when Mariana rushed into the next room with the copy-book and came back without it.

She sat down beside him, but instantly got up again. “You have not yet been in my room; would you like to see it? It’s quite as nice as yours. Come and look.”

Nejdanov rose and followed her. Her room, as she called it, was somewhat smaller than his, but the furniture was altogether smarter and newer. Some flowers in a crystal vase stood on the window-sill and there was an iron bedstead in a corner.

“Isn’t Solomin a darling!” Mariana exclaimed. “But we mustn’t get too spoiled. I don’t suppose we shall often have rooms like these. Do you know what I’ve been thinking? It would be rather nice if we could get a place together so that we need not part! It will probably be difficult,” she added after a pause; “but we must think of it. But all the same, you won’t go back to St. Petersburg, will you?

“What should I do in St. Petersburg? Attend lectures at the university or give lessons? That’s no use to me now.”

“We must ask Solomin,” Mariana observed. “He will know best.”

They went back to the other room and sat down beside each other again. They praised Solomin, Tatiana, Pavel; spoke of the Sipiagins and how their former life had receded from them far into the distance, as if enveloped in a mist; then they clasped each other’s hand again, exchanged tender glances; wondered what class they had better go among first, and how to behave so that people should not suspect them.

Nejdanov declared that the less they thought about that, and the more naturally they behaved, the better.

“Of course! We want to become simple, as Tatiana says.”

“I didn’t mean it in that sense,” Nejdanov began; “I meant that we must not be self-conscious.”

Mariana suddenly burst out laughing.

“Do you remember, Aliosha, how I said that we had both become simplified?”

Nejdanov also laughed, repeated “simplified,” and began musing. Mariana too became pensive.

“Aliosha!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?”

“It seems to me that we are both a little uncomfortable. Young — des nouveaux maries,” she explained, “when away on their honeymoon no doubt feel as we do. They are happy . . . all is well with them — but they feel uncomfortable.”

Nejdanov gave a forced smile.

“You know very well, Mariana, that we are not young in that sense.”

Mariana rose from her chair and stood before him.

“That depends on yourself.”

“How?”

“Aliosha, you know, dear, that when you tell me, as a man of honour . . . and I will believe you because I know you are honourable; when you tell me that you love me with that love . . . the love that gives one person the right over another’s life, when you tell me that — I am yours.”

Nejdanov blushed and turned away a little.

“When I tell you that. . .

“Yes, then! But you see, Aliosha, you don’t say that to me now . . . Oh yes, Aliosha, you are truly an honourable man. Enough of this! Let us talk of more serious things.”

“But I do love you, Mariana!”

“I don’t doubt that . . . and shall wait. But there, I have not quite finished arranging your writing table. Here is something wrapped up, something hard.”

Nejdanov sprang up from his chair.

“Don’t touch that, Mariana . . . Leave it alone, please!

Mariana looked at him over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows in amazement.

Is it a mystery? A secret? Have you a secret?

“Yes . . . yes . . .” Nejdanov stammered out, and added by way of explanation, “it’s a portrait.”

The word escaped him unawares. The packet Mariana held in her hand was her own portrait, which Markelov had given Nejdanov.

“A portrait?” she drawled out. “Is it a woman’s?

She handed him the packet, which he took so clumsily that it slipped out of his hand and fell open.

“Why . . . it’s my portrait! “Mariana exclaimed quickly. “I suppose I may look at my own portrait.” She took it out of Nejdanov’s hand.

“Did you do it?

“No . . . I didn’t.”

“Who then? Markelov?”

“Yes, you’ve guessed right.”

“Then how did it come to be in your possession?”

“He gave it to me.”

“When?

Nejdanov told her when and under what circumstances. While he was speaking Mariana glanced from him to the portrait. The same thought flashed across both their minds. “If HE were in this room, then HE would have the right to demand . . .” But neither Mariana nor Nejdanov gave expression to this thought in words, perhaps because each was conscious what was in the other’s mind.

Mariana quietly wrapped the portrait up again in its paper and put it on the table.

“What a good man he is!” she murmured. “I wonder where he is now?”

“Why, at home of course. Tomorrow or the day after I must go and see him about some books and pamphlets. He promised to give me some, but............