“But you would not have spoken like that, otherwise,” persisted Lialia. “All that I meant was—well,” Yourii stopped short, feeling half ashamed, “well, we men, generally speaking, are all thoroughly depraved, all of us.” Lialia was silent for a while, and then burst out laughing. “Oh! yes, I know that!” she exclaimed. Her laughter to him seemed quite out of place. “You can’t take matters so lightly,” he replied petulantly, “nor can you be expected to know everything that goes on. You have no idea of all the vile things of life; you are too young, too pure.” “Oh! indeed!” said Lialia, laughing, and flattered. Then in a more serious tone she continued, “Do you suppose that I have not thought of such things? Indeed, I have; and it has always pained and grieved me that we women should care so much for our reputation and our chastity, being afraid to take a step lest we—well, lest we should fall, while men almost look upon it as an heroic deed to seduce a girl. That is all horribly unjust, isn’t it?” “Yes,” replied Yourii, bitterly, finding a certain pleasure in lashing his own sins, though conscious that he, Yourii, was absolutely different from other men. “Yes; that is one of the most monstrously unjust things in the world. Ask any one of us if he would like to marry” (he was going to say “a whore,” but substituted) “a _cocotte_, and he will always tell you ‘No.’ But in what respect is a man really any better than a _cocotte_? She sells herself at least for money, to earn a living, whereas a man simply gives rein to his lust in wanton and shameless fashion.” Lialia was silent. A bat darted backwards and forwards beneath the balcony, unseen, struck the wall repeatedly with its wings and then, with faint fluttering, vanished. Yourii listened to all these strange noises of the night, and then he continued speaking with increasing bitterness. The very of his voice drew him on. “The worst of it is that not only do they all know this, and tacitly agree that it must be so, but they enact complete tragi-comedies, allowing themselves to become betrothed, and then lying to God and man. It is always the purest and most innocent girls, too,” (he was thinking jealously of Sina Karsavina) “who become the prey of the vilest debauchees, tainted physically and morally. Semenoff once said to me, ‘the purer the woman, the filthier the man who possesses her,’ and he was right.” “Is that true?” asked Lialia, in a strange tone. “Yes, most assuredly it is.” Yourii smiled bitterly. “I know nothing—nothing about it,” faltered Lialia, with tears in her voice. “What?” cried Yourii, for he had not heard her remark. “Surely Tolia is not like the rest? It’s impossible.” She had never spoken of him by his pet name to Yourii before. Then, all at once, she began to weep. Touched by her distress, Yourii seized her hand.