Lida rose. The thought, consoling at first, that she would find in him her saviour with whom she would always live, now inspired her with horror and loathing. She longed to shake her fist at him, to fling her scorn in his face, to revenge herself on him for having humiliated her thus. But she felt that at the very first words she would burst into tears. A last spark of pride, all that remained of the handsome, dashing Lida, deterred her. In a tone of such intense scorn that it surprised herself as much as Sarudine, she hissed out, “You brute!” Then she rushed out of the room, tearing the lace trimming of her sleeve which caught on the bolt of the door. Sarudine flushed to the roots of his hair. Had she called him “wretch,” or “villain,” he could have borne that calmly, but “brute” was such a coarse word so absolutely opposed to his conception of his own engaging personality, that it utterly stunned him. Even the whites of his eyes became bloodshot. He sniggered uneasily, shrugged his shoulders, buttoned and then unbuttoned his jacket, feeling thoroughly upset. But simultaneously a sense of satisfaction and relief waxed greater within him. All was at an end. It irked him to think that he would never again possess such a woman as Lida, that he had lost so comely and desirable a mistress. But he dismissed all such regret with a gesture of disdain. “Devil take the lot! I can get hold of as many as I please!” He put his jacket straight, and, his lips still quivering, lit a cigarette. Then assuming his wonted air of nonchalance, he returned to his guests. CHAPTER XVIII. All the gamblers except the drunken Malinowsky had lost their interest in the game. They were intensely curious to know who the lady was that had come to see Sarudine. Those who guessed that it was Lida Sanina felt instinctively jealous, picturing to themselves her white body in Sarudine’s embrace. After a while Sanine got up from the table and said: “I shall not play any more. Good-bye.” “Wait a minute, my friend, where are you going?” asked Ivanoff. “I’m going to see what they are about, in there,” replied Sanine, pointing to the closed door. “Don’t be a fool! Sit down and have a drink!” said Ivanoff. “You’re the fool!” rejoined Sanine, as he went out. On reaching a narrow side-street where nettles grew in profusion, Sanine bethought himself of the exact spot which Sarudine’s windows overlooked. Carefully treading down the nettles, he climbed the wall. When on the top, he almost forgot why he had got up there at all, so charming was it to look down on the green grass and the pretty garden, and to feel the soft breeze blowing pleasantly on his hot, muscular limbs. Then he dropped down into the nettles on the other side, irritably rubbing the places where they had stung him. Crossing the garden, he reached the window just as Lida said: “You mean to say that you still don’t know?”