The night was warm and seemed strangely still, as though everything were listening and expectant; and Bersenyev, enfolded in the still darkness, stopped involuntarily; and he, too, listened expectant. On the tree-tops near there was a faint stir, like the rustle of a woman’s dress, awaking in him a feeling half-sweet, half-painful, a feeling almost of fright. He felt a tingling in his cheeks, his eyes were chill with momentary tears; he would have liked to move quite noiselessly, to steal along in secret. A cross gust of wind blew suddenly on him; he almost shuddered, and his heart stood still; a drowsy beetle fell off a twig and dropped with a thud on the path; Bersenyev uttered a subdued ‘Ah!’ and again stopped. But he began to think of Elena, and all these passing sensations vanished at once; there remained only the reviving sense of the night freshness, of the walk by night; his whole soul was absorbed by the image of the young girl. Bersenyev walked with bent head, recalling her words, her questions. He fancied he heard the tramp of quick steps behind. He listened: some one was running, some one was overtaking him; he heard panting, and suddenly from a black circle of shadow cast by a huge tree Shubin sprang out before him, quite pale in the light of the moon, with no cap on his disordered curls. ‘I am glad you came along this path,’ he said with an effort. ‘I should not have slept all night, if I had not overtaken you. Give me your hand. Are you going home?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I will see you home then.’ ‘But why have you come without a cap on?’ ‘That doesn’t matter. I took off my neckerchief too. It is quite warm.’ The friends walked a few paces. ‘I was very stupid to-day, wasn’t I?’ Shubin asked suddenly. ‘To speak frankly, you were. I couldn’t make you out. I have never seen you like that before. And what were you angry about really? Such trifles!’ ‘H’m,’ muttered Shubin. ‘That’s how you put it; but they were not trifles to me. You see,’ he went on, ‘I ought to point out to you that I--that--you may think what you please of me--I--well there! I’m in love with Elena.’ ‘You in love with Elena!’ repeated Bersenyev, standing still. ‘Yes,’ pursued Shubin with affected carelessness. ‘Does that astonish you? I will tell you something else. Till this evening I still had hopes that she might come to love me in time. But to-day I have seen for certain that there is no hope for me. She is in love with some one else.’ ‘Some one else? Whom?’ ‘Whom? You!’ cried Shubin, slapping Bersenyev on the shoulder. ‘Me!’ ‘You,’ repeated Shubin. Bersenyev stepped back a pace, and stood motionless. Shubin looked intently at him. ‘And does that astonish you? You are a modest youth. But she loves you. You can make your mind easy on that score.’ ‘What nonsense you talk!’ Bersenyev protested at last with an air of vexation.