‘That is to jealousy, you mean? Ah, young man, young man, it’s shameful of you to shuffle and make pretences, it’s shameful of you not to realise what a bitter sorrow is speaking to you now by my lips! No, I am not in the same position as you! I, I am old, ridiculous, an utterly harmless old fool--but you! But there’s no need to talk about it! You would not for one second agree to accept the position I fill, and fill with gratitude! Jealousy? A man is not jealous who has never had even a drop of hope, and this is not the first time it has been my lot to endure this feeling. I am only afraid ... afraid for her, understand that. And could I have guessed when she sent me to you that the feeling of having wronged you--she owned to feeling that--would carry her so far?’ ‘But excuse me, Sozont Ivanitch, you seem to know....’ ‘I know nothing, and I know everything! I know,’ he added, turning away, ‘I know where she was yesterday. But there’s no holding her back now; like a stone set rolling, she must roll on to the bottom. I should be a great idiot indeed, if I imagined my words could hold you back at once ... you, when a woman like that.... But that’s enough of this. I couldn’t restrain myself, that’s my whole excuse. And after all how can one know, and why not try? Perhaps, you will think again; perhaps, some word of mine will go to your heart, you will not care to ruin her and yourself, and that innocent sweet creature.... Ah! don’t be angry, don’t stamp about! What have I to fear? Why should I mince matters? It’s not jealousy speaking in me, not anger.... I’m ready to fall at your feet, to beseech you.... Good-bye, though. You needn’t be afraid, all this will be kept secret. I wished for your good.’ Potugin strode off along the avenue and quickly vanished in the now falling darkness. Litvinov did not detain him. ‘A terrible dark story....’ Potugin had said to Litvinov, and would not tell it.... Let us pass it over with a few words only.