'We all love him. I can imagine you, a schoolgirl at the Institute . . .'

'No, it was later. I was infatuated, but it passed . . . I must tell you . . .'

'No, it was not simply--' She covered her face with her hands.

'What? You gave yourself to him?'

He sprang up and stood before her with trembling jaws, pale as death. He now remembered how the Emperor, meeting him on the Nevsky, had amiably congratulated him.

'O God, what have I done! Stiva!'

'Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Oh, how it pains!'

He turned away and went to the house. There he met her mother.