"No, no! I feel so guilty now. I'll give you money." "Don't offend me. All I want is not to be an idiot in the future and not to lose you. So I have said it,--and it is said. When it comes to stubbornness--I hardly think anybody could beat me. So just understand: _I am going to stay_ where you are, and if you try this time to get away, I'll have to take measures. I'll kidnap you. I'll put you in a place where no 'Navy-Cut' is smoked. Now--it _is_ serious. Understand?" We talked, and argued, and even quarrelled, and again made peace, until she declared herself beaten. Maybe she was angry; perhaps scared; but surely greatly flattered. A woman is a woman--always flattered when she sees persistence. She consented to take me into her game. I had to swear, and cross my heart, and give endless words of honor,--all that for a position of a traffic man, like the one in Tumen. I had to swear that no cooks, or maids, or ladies (especially ladies!) would distract me from the thought of her. Very selfish, but understandable. It was late, when she left me. "Alex," she said on the threshold,--"Please don't talk. Do not write, please! You'll have time to finish your diary, and write even a series of books on the subject afterwards. Maybe I'll help you even. Close your diary. Give it to me, I'll hide it!..." "Is _that_ so?" I said,--"there is nothing now that would be of interest _to you_." "Everything interests me, dear. Aren't you mean to your Lucie?... Very well, hide it yourself, burn it, if you can't hide it. Can't you keep in your mind your impressions? Do you promise? Consider me too!" "I promise. I'll do it. I must only write all about this evening. Every word. This evening I almost trust you. It is of historical value therefore." She gave her consent. When the door closed after her, and my lips were still burning, hideous phantoms of doubt poured into the room; they tortured me, and sneered at me, and kept me awake.... And with the pale rose of the first sunrays the phantoms of doubt left me exhausted, miserable and helpless like a wet cat. * * * * * _Translator's note._ With paragraph 55 ends the diary of Syvorotka. Among his documents, however, has been found the following letter, not in his characteristic handwriting, but in that of someone else, bearing directly upon the incidents narrated by the diarist. Written in ungrammatical Russian, bearing many orthographic mistakes, this document seems to be a fragment of a report, by some unidentified co-operating agent, to his unrevealed superior. It is deemed necessary, therefore, for purposes of clearness, to append this document, as I find it among the literary remains of Al. Syvorotka: 56