‘They’ll never set eyes on me again!’ she repeated sharply. This time, too, she did not raise her eyes to me; she seemed to be aware that she would infallibly betray herself, would show what was in her heart, if any one looked her straight in the face.... And that was just why she did not lift her eyes, except when she was angry or annoyed, and then she stared straight at the person she was speaking to.... But her small pretty face was aglow with indomitable resolution. ‘Why, Tarhov was right,’ flashed through my head; ‘this girl is a new type.’ ‘You’ve no need to be afraid of me,’ I declared, at last. ‘Truly? Even, if ... You said something about our relations.... But even if there were ...’ she broke off. ‘Even in that case, you would have no need to be afraid, Musa Pavlovna. I am not your judge. Your secret is buried here.’ I pointed to my bosom. ‘Believe me, I know how to appreciate ...’ ‘Have you got my letter?’ Musa asked suddenly. ‘Yes.’ ‘Where?’ ‘In my pocket.’ ‘Give it here ... quick, quick!’ I got out the scrap of paper. Musa snatched it in her rough little hand, stood still a moment facing me, as though she were going to thank me; but suddenly started, looked round, and without even a word at parting, ran quickly down the hill. I looked in the direction she had taken. At no great distance from the tower I discerned, wrapped in an ‘Almaviva’ [‘Almavivas’ were then in the height of fashion), a figure which I recognised at once as Tarhov. ‘Aha, my boy,’ thought I, ‘you must have had notice, then, since you’re on the look-out.’ And whistling to myself, I started homewards. * * * * *