"I'm wandering off into poetry!" He shook himself and turned away from the window. He caught sight of Paklin's ten-rouble note, put it in his pocket, and began pacing up and down the room.

"I must get some money in advance," he thought to himself. "What a good thing this gentleman suggested it. A hundred roubles... a hundred from my brothers—their excellencies.... I want fifty to pay my debts, fifty or seventy for the journey—and the rest Ostrodumov can have. Then there are Paklin's ten roubles in addition, and I dare say I can get something from Merkulov—"

In the midst of these calculations the rhythmic cadences began to reassert themselves. He stood still, as if rooted to the spot, with fixed gaze. After a while his hands involuntarily found their way to the table drawer, from which he pulled out a much-used copy-book. He dropped into a chair with the same fixed look, humming softly to himself and every now and again shaking back his wavy hair, began writing line after line, sometimes scratching out and rewriting.

The door leading into the passage opened slightly and Mashurina's head appeared. Nejdanov did not notice her and went on writing. Mashurina stood looking at him intently for some time, shook her head, and drew it back again. Nejdanov sat up straight, and suddenly catching sight of her, exclaimed with some annoyance: "Oh, is that you?" and thrust the copy-book into the drawer again.

Mashurina came into the room with a firm step.

"Ostrodumov asked me to come," she began deliberately.

"He would like to know when we can have the money. If you could get it today, we could start this evening."

"I can't get it today," Nejdanov said with a frown. "Please come tomorrow."

"At what time?"

"Two o'clock."

"Very well."

Mashurina was silent for a while and then extended her hand.

"I am afraid I interrupted you. I am so sorry. But then... I am going away... who knows if we shall ever meet again... I wanted to say goodbye to you."

Nejdanov pressed her cold, red fingers. "You know the man who was here today," he began. "I have come to terms with him, and am going with him. His place is down in the province of S., not far from the town itself."

A glad smile lit up Mashurina's face.

"Near S. did you say? Then we may see each other again perhaps. They might send us there!" Mashurina sighed. "Oh, Alexai Dmitritch—"

"What is it?" Nejdanov asked.

Mashurina looked intense.

"Oh, nothing. Goodbye. It's nothing." She squeezed Nejdanov's hand a second time and went out.

"There is not a soul in St. Petersburg who is so attached to me as this eccentric person," he thought. "I wish she had not interrupted me though. However, I suppose it's for the best."

The next morning Nejdanov called at Sipiagin's townhouse and was shown into a magnificent study, furnished in a rather severe style, but quite in keeping with the dignity of a statesman of liberal views.