Eliza Byelsky was an orphan; her relations did not like her, and reckoned on her inheritance ... ruin was facing her. In saving her, Irina was really doing a service to him who was responsible for it all, and who was himself now standing in a very close relation to Irina.... Potugin, without speaking, looked long at Irina, and consented. She wept, and flung herself all in tears on his neck. And he too wept ... but very different were their tears. Everything had already been made ready for the secret marriage, a powerful hand removed all obstacles.... But illness came ... and then a daughter was born, and then the mother ... poisoned herself. What was to be done with the child? Potugin received it into his charge, received it from the same hands, from the hands of Irina. A terrible dark story.... Let us pass on, readers, pass on! Over an hour more passed before Litvinov could bring himself to go back to his hotel. He had almost reached it when he suddenly heard steps behind him. It seemed as though they were following him persistently, and walking faster when he quickened his pace. When he moved under a lamp-post Litvinov turned round and recognised General Ratmirov. In a white tie, in a fashionable overcoat, flung open, with a row of stars and crosses on a golden chain in the buttonhole of his dresscoat, the general was returning from dinner, alone. His eyes, fastened with insolent persistence on Litvinov, expressed such contempt and such hatred, his whole deportment was suggestive of such intense defiance, that Litvinov thought it his duty, stifling his wrath, to go to meet him, to face a ‘scandal.’ But when he was on a level with Litvinov, the general’s face suddenly changed, his habitual playful refinement reappeared upon it, and his hand in its pale lavender glove flourished his glossy hat high in the air. Litvinov took off his in silence, and each went on his way. ‘He has noticed something, for certain!’ thought Litvinov. ‘If only it were ... any one else!’ thought the general. Tatyana was playing picquet with her aunt when Litvinov entered their room. ‘Well, I must say, you’re a pretty fellow!’ cried Kapitolina Markovna, and she threw down her cards. ‘Our first day, and he’s lost for the whole evening! Here we’ve been waiting and waiting, and scolding and scolding....’ ‘I said nothing, aunt,’ observed Tatyana. ‘Well, you’re meekness itself, we all know! You ought to be ashamed, sir! and you betrothed too!’ Litvinov made some sort of excuse and sat down to the table. ‘Why have you left off your game?’ he asked after a brief silence. ‘Well, that’s a nice question! We’ve been playing cards from sheer dulness, not knowing what to do with ourselves ... but now you’ve come.’ ‘If you would care to hear the evening music,’ observed Litvinov, ‘I should be delighted to take you.’ Kapitolina Markovna looked at her niece. ‘Let us go, aunt, I am ready,’ she said, ‘but wouldn’t it be better to stay at home?’