But　the　gate　in　the　fence　creaked；　some　one　stole　in　and；　breaking　a　twig　from　one　of　those　scraggy　trees；　cautiously　tapped　on　the　window　with　it。
  〃Nikolay　Stepanovitch；〃　I　heard　a　whisper。　〃Nikolay　Stepanovitch。〃
  I　opened　the　window；　and　fancied　I　was　dreaming：　under　the　window；　huddled　against　the　wall；　stood　a　woman　in　a　black　dress；　with　the　moonlight　bright　upon　her；　looking　at　me　with　great　eyes。　Her　face　was　pale；　stern；　and　weird…looking　in　the　moonlight；　like　marble；　her　chin　was　quivering。
  〃It　is　I；〃　she　said　　〃　I　。　。　。　Katya。〃
  In　the　moonlight　all　women's　eyes　look　big　and　black；　all　people　look　taller　and　paler；　and　that　was　probably　why　I　had　not　recognized　her　for　the　first　minute。
  〃What　is　it？〃
  〃Forgive　me！　〃　she　said。　〃I　suddenly　felt　unbearably　miserable　。　。　。　I　couldn't　stand　it；　so　came　here。　There　was　a　light　in　your　window　and　。　。　。　and　I　ventured　to　knock。　。　。　。　I　beg　your　pardon。　Ah！　if　you　knew　how　miserable　I　am！　What　are　you　doing　just　now？〃
  〃Nothing。　。　。　。　I　can't　sleep。〃
  〃I　had　a　feeling　that　there　was　something　wrong；　but　that　is　nonsense。〃
  Her　brows　were　lifted；　her　eyes　shone　with　tears；　and　her　whole　face　was　lighted　up　with　the　familiar　look　of　trustfulness　which　I　had　not　seen　for　so　long。
  〃Nikolay　Stepanovitch；〃　she　said　imploringly；　stretching　out　both　hands　to　me；　〃my　precious　friend；　I　beg　you；　I　implore　you。　。　。　。　If　you　don't　despise　my　affection　and　respect　for　you；　consent　to　what　I　ask　of　you。〃
  〃What　is　it？〃
  〃Take　my　money　from　me！〃
  〃Come！　what　an　idea！　What　do　I　want　with　your　money？〃
  〃You'll　go　away　somewhere　for　your　health。　。　。　。　You　ought　to　go　for　your　health。　Will　you　take　it？　Yes？　Nikolay　Stepanovitch　darling；　yes？〃
  She　looked　greedily　into　my　face　and　repeated：　〃Yes；　you　will　take　it？〃
  〃No；　my　dear；　I　won't　take　it　。　。　〃　I　said。　〃Thank　you。〃
  She　turned　her　back　upon　me　and　bowed　her　head。　Probably　I　refused　her　in　a　tone　which　made　further　conversation　about　money　impossible。
  〃Go　home　to　bed；〃　I　said。　〃We　will　see　each　other　tomorrow。〃
  〃So　you　don't　consider　me　your　friend？〃　she　asked　dejectedly。
  〃I　don't　say　that。　But　your　money　would　be　no　use　to　me　now。〃
  〃I　beg　your　pardon　。　。　。〃　she　said；　dropping　her　voice　a　whole　octave。　〃I　understand　you　。　。　。　to　be　indebted　to　a　person　like　me　。　。　。　a　retired　actress。　。　。　。　But；　good…bye。　。　。　。〃
  And　she　went　away　so　quickly　that　I　had　not　time　even　to　say　good…bye。
  VI
  I　am　in　Harkov。
  As　it　would　be　useless　to　contend　against　my　present　mood　and；　indeed；　beyond　my　power；　I　have　made　up　my　mind　that　the　last　days　of　my　life　shall　at　least　be　irreproachable　externally。　If　I　am　unjust　in　regard　to　my　wife　and　daughter；　which　I　fully　recognize；　I　will　try　and　do　as　she　wishes；　since　she　wants　me　to　go　to　Harkov；　I　go　to　Harkov。　Besides；　I　have　become　of　late　so　indifferent　to　everything　that　it　is　really　all　the　same　to　me　where　I　go；　to　Harkov；　or　to　Paris；　or　to　Berditchev。
  I　arrived　here　at　midday；　and　have　put　up　at　the　hotel　not　far　from　the　cathedral。　The　train　was　jolting；　there　were　draughts；　and　now　I　am　sitting　on　my　bed；　holding　my　head　and　expecting　tic　douloureux。　I　ought　to　have　gone　today　to　see　some　professors　of　my　acquaintance；　but　I　have　neither　strength　nor　inclination。
  The　old　corridor　attendant　comes　in　and　asks　whether　I　have　brought　my　bed…linen。　I　detain　him　for　five　minutes；　and　put　several　questions　to　him　about　Gnekker；　on　whose　account　I　have　come　here。　The　attendant　turns　out　to　be　a　native　of　Harkov；　he　knows　the　town　like　the　fingers　of　his　hand；　but　does　not　remember　any　household　of　the　surname　of　Gnekker。　I　question　him　about　the　estate　　the　same　answer。
  The　clock　in　the　corridor　strikes　one；　then　two；　then　three。　。　。　。　These　last　months　in　which　I　am　waiting　for　death　seem　much　longer　than　the　whole　of　my　life。　And　I　have　never　before　been　so　ready　to　resign　myself　to　the　slowness　of　time　as　now。　In　the　old　days；　when　one　sat　in　the　station　and　waited　for　a　train；　or　presided　in　an　examination…room；　a　quarter　of　an　hour　would　seem　an　eternity。　Now　I　can　sit　all　night　on　my　bed　without　moving；　and　quite　unconcernedly　reflect　that　tomorrow　will　be　followed　by　another　night　as　long　and　colourless；　and　the　day　after　tomorrow。
  In　the　corridor　it　strikes　five；　six；　seven。　。　。　。　It　grows　dark。
  There　is　a　dull　pain　in　my　cheek；　the　tic　beginning。　To　occupy　myself　with　thoughts；　I　go　back　to　my　old　point　of　view；　when　I　was　not　so　indifferent；　and　ask　myself　why　I；　a　distinguished　man；　a　privy　councillor；　am　sitting　in　this　little　hotel　room；　on　this　bed　with　the　unfamiliar　grey　quilt。　Why　am　I　looking　at　that　cheap　tin　washing…stand　and　listening　to　the　whirr　of　the　wretched　clock　in　the　corridor？　Is　all　this　in　keeping　with　my　fame　and　my　lofty　position？　And　I　answer　these　questions　with　a　jeer。　I　am　amused　by　the　naivete　with　which　I　used　in　my　youth　to　exaggerate　the　value　of　renown　and　of　the　exceptional　position　which　celebrities　are　supposed　to　enjoy。　I　am　famous；　my　name　is　pronounced　with　reverence；　my　portrait　has　been　both　in　the　_Niva_　and　in　the　_Illustrated　News　of　the　World_；　I　have　read　my　biography　even　in　a　German　magazine。　And　what　of　all　that？　Here　I　am　sitting　utterly　alone　in　a　strange　town；　on　a　strange　bed；　rubbing　my　aching　cheek　with　my　hand。　。　。　。　Domestic　worries；　the　hard…heartedness　of　creditors；　the　rudeness　of　the　railway　servants；　the　inconveniences　of　the　passport　system；　the　expensive　and　unwholesome　food　in　the　refreshment…rooms；　the　general　rudeness　and　coarseness　in　social　intercourse　　all　this；　and　a　great　deal　more　which　would　take　too　long　to　reckon　up；　affects　me　as　much　as　any　working　man　who　is　famous　only　in　his　alley。　In　what　way；　does　my　exceptional　position　find　expression？　Admitting　that　I　am　celebrated　a　thousand　times　over；　that　I　am　a　hero　of　whom　my　country　is　proud。　They　publish　bulletins　of　my　illness　in　every　paper；　letters　of　sympathy　come　to　me　by　post　from　my　colleagues；　my　pupils；　the　general　public；　but　all　that　does　not　prevent　me　from　dying　in　a　strange　bed；　in　misery；　in　utter　loneliness。　Of　course；　no　one　is　to　blame　for　that；　but　I　in　my　foolishness　dislike　my　popularity。　I　feel　as　though　it　had　cheated　me。
  At　ten　o'clock　I　fall　asleep；　and　in　spite　of　the　tic　I　sleep　soundly；　and　should　have　gone　on　sleeping　if　I　had　not　been　awakened。　Soon　after　one　came　a　sudden　knock　at　the　door。
  〃Who　is　there？〃
  〃A　telegram。〃
  〃You　might　have　waited　till　tomorrow；〃　I　say　angrily；　taking　the　telegram　from　the　attendant。　〃Now　I　shall　not　get　to　sleep　again。〃
  〃I　am　sorry。　Your　light　was　burning；　so　I　thought　you　were　not　asleep。〃
  I　tear　open　the　telegram　and　look　first　at　the　signature。　From　my　wife。
  〃What　does　she　want？〃
  〃Gnekker　was　secretly　married　to　Liza　yesterday。　Return。〃
  I　read　the　telegram；　and　my　dismay　does　not　last　long。　I　am　dismayed；　not　by　what　Liza　and　Gnekker　have　done；　but　by　the　indifference　with　which　I　hear　of　their　marriage。　They　say　philosophers　and　the　truly　wise　are　indifferent。　It　is　false：　indifference　is　the　paralysis　of　the　soul；　it　is　premature　death。
  I　go　to　bed　again；　and　begin　trying　to　think　of　something　to　occupy　my　mind。　What　am　I　to　think　about？　I　feel　as　though　everything　had　been　thought　over　already　and　there　is　nothing　which　could　hold　my　attention　now。
  When　daylight　comes　I　sit　up　in　bed　with　my　arms　round　my　knees；　and　to　pass　the　time　I　try　to　know　myself。　〃Know　thyself〃　is　excellent　and　useful　advice；　it　is　only　a　pity　that　the　ancients　never　thought　to　indicate　the　means　of　following　this　precept。
  When　I　have　wanted　to　understand　somebody　or　myself　I　have　considered；　not　the　actions；　in　which　everything　is　relative；　but　the　desires。
  〃Tell　me　what　you　want；　and　I　will　tell　you　what　manner　of　man　you　are。〃
  And　now　I　examine　myself：　what　do　I　want？
  I　want　our　wives；　our　children；　our　friends；　our　pupils；　to　love　in　us；　not　our　fame；　not　the　brand　and　not　the　label；　but　to　love　us　as　ordinary　men。　Anything　else？　I　should　like　to　have　had　helpers　and　successors。　Anything　else？　I　should　like　to　wake　up　in　a　hundred　years'　time　and　to　have　just　a　peep　out　of　one　eye　at　what　is　happening　in　science。　I　should　have　liked　to　have　lived　another　ten　years。　。　。　What　further？　Why；　nothing　further。　I　think　and　think；　and　can　think　of　nothing　more。　And　however　much　I　might　think；　and　however　far　my　thoughts　might　travel；　it　is　clear　to　me　that　there　is　nothing　vital；　nothing　of　great　importance　in　my　desires。　In　my　passion　for　science；　in　my　desire　to　live；　in　this　sitting　on　a　strange　bed；　and　in　this　striving　to　know　myself　　in　all　the　thoughts；　feelings；　and　ideas　I　form　about　everything；　there　is　no　common　bond　to　connect　it　all　into　one　whole。　Every　feeling　and　every　thought　exists　apart　in　me；　and　in　all　my　criticisms　of　science；　the　theatre；　literature；　my　pupils；　and　in　all　the　pictures　my　imagination　draws；　even　the　most　skilful　analyst　could　not　find　what　is　called　a　general　idea；　or　the　god　of　a　living　man。
  And　if　there　is　not　that；　then　there　is　nothing。
  In　a　state　so　poverty…stricken；　a　serious　ailment；　the　fear　of　death；　the　influences　of　circumstance　and　men　were　enough　to　turn　upside　down