"Then he went up to the three-legged small table and took from the drawer two sealed envelopes, and a small object which he put into his pocket, but the envelopes he left on the table. "He then leaned down and opened the door of the stove.... The stove contained a heap of ashes. This was all that was left of Nezhdanof's papers and private book of verses.... He had burned them all during the night. But in this same stove, leaning against one of the walls, was Marianne's portrait, Markelof's gift. Evidently Nezhdanof had not had the courage to burn this portrait with the rest; he took it out carefully and put it on the table by the side of the sealed papers. "Then with a determined movement of the hand he seized his cap and started for the door ... but he stopped, came back, and went into Marianne's chamber. "After standing motionless for a moment, he cast a look about him, and approaching the young girl's narrow small bed--he bent down and with one suppressed sob he placed his lips, not on the pillow, but on the foot of the bed.... Then he stood up straight, drew his cap over his forehead, and flung himself from the room. "Without meeting any one either in the entry, or on the staircase, or down below, he slipped out into the little enclosure. The day was cloudy, the sky lowering; a little damp breeze bent the tops of the grass-blades and gently waved the leaves on the trees. The mill rattled and buzzed less than usual at this hour; an odor of charcoal, of tar, and of soot came from the yard. "Nezhdanof cast around him a scrutinizing, distrustful glance, then he walked up to the old apple-tree which had attracted his attention on the day of his arrival, when he first looked out of his chamber window. The trunk of this apple-tree was covered with dry moss, its bare and knotty branches, with but a few little green and brown leaves, stuck out here and there, raised themselves crookedly towards the heavens, like the suppliant arms of an old man, with bent elbows. Nezhdanof stood firmly on the dark earth which surrounded the foot of the apple-tree, and drew from his pocket the small object which he had previously taken from the table drawer.--Then he looked attentively at the windows of the little wing. "'If some one should see me at this moment,' he thought, 'perhaps I should put off--' "But nowhere was a single human face to be seen.... Everything seemed dead, everything turned itself away from him, drawing itself away from him forever, leaving him alone to the mercy of fate. Only the factory was sending forth its rank odor, its dull uproar, and a cold rain began to fall in fine drops, pricking like needles.