"Ach God! Paul Ivanuitch, that is where they hit a man when he is down," said Palma, boiling over again at thought of it all, and emphasising his points with his fist on the ground. "The thought of her, alone and friendless, comes near to driving me crazy at times. She may be alive. She may be dead. She may be in the gutter. You know how things would go. They would seize everything I had and put in an administrator, and nothing gets through their fingers. And--and----" he stumbled, and looked piteously at Pavlof, his face working with deep emotion, and the bold blue eyes, which had always looked so merrily on the world, swimming now in a mist of bitterness. "Ach!--you cannot understand!" he jerked. "In a few months I was to have been a father, Paul Ivanuitch, and I had persuaded her to go to the country to give herself a chance. And here I am"--and the heavy fist smashed into the ground again--"and I do not know whether she is alive, or whether the child is alive. I do not know whether I am still a husband, or whether or not I am a father. God! I know only that I am no longer a man, but am becoming a devil at thought of it all. May his blackest curse blight them all for ever and for ever and for ever!" And again a bitter silence fell upon them. "Truly, the grinding is bitter," said Pavlof at last. "And we are between the stones. But--sometimes--that which is between the stones will catch fire, Paul Ivanuitch, and then the grinders will see hell--as they did in France. God grant I be there to see it too!--and to help! I was becoming a man, and they have turned me back to the beasts. Hope Ivanovna is an angel, and she was making a man of me, and they will grind her to powder, like the rest of us. She would wait and wait, and hope and hope, and strive after news of me and find nothing, and then maybe she would die." "I do not think she would die, Serge Petrovitch. She is very brave. She is too bold-hearted to be crushed by them. It is wonderful what a woman can stand." "Ay--but--there are times"--said Palma gloomily. "Ah--that. For that you must trust in God, Serge Petrovitch--as she would." "It is true," nodded Palma. "I did not know so great good existed till I came to know her. They are nearer God than we are.... My God! My God!" he groaned, thinking only of his lost happiness, and forgetful for the moment of Pavlof. "And we were so happy and growing happier every day. And now----" and his fist rose and fell in a miserable abandonment of hope. It was the first time in twelve dreary months that he had been able to speak to any one of all that had been in his heart. There was a gloomy satisfaction in unloading himself to one who knew and could understand.