The following day Aratov spent, however, fairly quietly. He was even able to give his mind to his ordinary occupations. But there was one thing: both during his work and during his leisure he was continually thinking of Clara, of what Kupfer had told him the evening before. It is true that his meditations, too, were of a fairly tranquil character. He fancied that this strange girl interested him from the psychological point of view, as something of the nature of a riddle, the solution of which was worth racking his brains over. ‘Ran away with an actress living as a kept mistress,’ he pondered, ‘put herself under the protection of that princess, with whom she seems to have lived--and no _love affairs_’? It’s incredible!... Kupfer talked of pride! But in the first place we know’ (Aratov ought to have said: we have read in books),...’we know that pride can exist side by side with levity of conduct; and secondly, how came she, if she were so proud, to make an appointment with a man who might treat her with contempt ... and did treat her with it ... and in a public place, moreover ... in a boulevard!’ At this point Aratov recalled all the scene in the boulevard, and he asked himself, Had he really shown contempt for Clara? ‘No,’ he decided,... ‘it was another feeling ... a feeling of doubt ... lack of confidence, in fact!’ ‘Unhappy Clara!’ was again ringing in his head. ‘Yes, unhappy,’ he decided again.... ‘That’s the most fitting word. And, if so, I was unjust. She said truly that I did not understand her. A pity! Such a remarkable creature, perhaps, came so close ... and I did not take advantage of it, I repulsed her.... Well, no matter! Life’s all before me. There will be, very likely, other meetings, perhaps more interesting! ‘But on what grounds did she fix on _me_ of all the world?’ He glanced into a looking-glass by which he was passing. ‘What is there special about me? I’m not a beauty, am I? My face ... is like any face.... She was not a beauty either, though. ‘Not a beauty ... and such an expressive face! Immobile ... and yet expressive! I never met such a face.... And talent, too, she has ... that is, she had, unmistakable. Untrained, undeveloped, even coarse, perhaps ... but unmistakable talent. And in that case I was unjust to her.’ Aratov was carried back in thought to the literary musical matinée ... and he observed to himself how exceedingly clearly he recollected every word she had sung of recited, every intonation of her voice.... ‘That would not have been so had she been without talent. And now it is all in the grave, to which she has hastened of herself.... But I’ve nothing to do with that ... I’m not to blame! It would be positively ridiculous to suppose that I’m to blame.’