Later on the same day, in a little narrow chamber of one of the huge, dirty tenements on Vosnesenski Prospekt, sat a young man of ruddy complexion. He was sitting at a table, bending toward the one dusty window, and attentively examining a white twenty-five ruble note.  
The room, dusty and dark, was wretched enough. Two rickety chairs, a torn haircloth sofa, with a greasy pillow, and the bare table at the window, were its entire furniture. Several scattered lithographs, two or three engravings, two slabs of lithographer's stone on the table, and engraver's tools sufficiently showed the occupation of the young man. He was florid, with red hair; of Polish descent, and his name was Kasimir Bodlevski. On the wall, over the sofa, between the overcoat and the cloak hanging on the wall, was a pencil drawing of a young girl. It was the portrait of Natasha.
 
The young man was so absorbed in his examination of the twenty-five ruble note that when a gentle knock sounded on the door he started nervously, as if coming back to himself, and even grew pale, and hurriedly crushed the banknote into his pocket.
 
The knock was repeated—and this time Bodlevski's face lit up. It was evidently a well-known and expected knock, for he sprang up and opened the door with a welcoming smile.
 
Natasha entered the room.
 
"What were you dreaming about that you didn't open the door for me?" she asked caressingly, throwing aside her hat and cloak, and taking a seat on the tumble-down sofa. "What were you busy at?"
 
"You know, yourself."
 
And instead of explaining further, he drew the banknote from his pocket and showed it to Natasha.
 
"This morning the master paid me, and I am keeping the money," he continued in a low voice, tilting back his chair. "I pay neither for my rooms nor my shop, but sit here and study all the time."
 
"It's so well worth while, isn't it?" smiled Natasha with a contemptuous grimace.
 
"You don't think it is worth while?" said the young man. "Wait!
I'll learn. We'll be rich!
 
"Yes, if we aren't sent to Siberia!" the girl laughed. "What kind of wealth is that?" she went on. "The game is not worth the candle. I'll be rich before you are."
 
"All right, go ahead!"
 
"Go ahead? I didn't come to talk nonsense, I came on business.
You help me, and, on my word of honor, we'll be in clover!"
 
Bodlevski looked at his companion in astonishment.
 
"I told you my Princess Anna was going to run away. She's gone! And her mother has cut her off from the inheritance," Natasha continued with an exultant smile. "I looked through the scrap basket, and have brought some papers with me."
 
"What sort of papers?"
 
"Oh, letters and notes. They ar............