‘To be sure! Let us have tea in our own old Moscow way, with the samovar, and have a good chat. We’ve not had a proper gossip yet.’ Litvinov ordered tea to be sent up, but the good chat did not come off. He felt a continual gnawing of conscience; whatever he said, it always seemed to him that he was telling lies and Tatyana was seeing through it. Meanwhile there was no change to be observed in her; she behaved just as unconstrainedly ... only her look never once rested upon Litvinov, but with a kind of indulgent timorousness glided over him, and she was paler than usual. Kapitolina Markovna asked her whether she had not a headache. Tatyana was at first about to say no, but after a moment’s thought, she said, ‘Yes, a little.’ ‘It’s the journey,’ suggested Litvinov, and he positively blushed with shame. ‘Yes, the journey,’ repeated Tatyana, and her eyes again glided over him. ‘You ought to rest, Tanya darling.’ ‘Yes, I will go to bed soon, aunt.’ On the table lay a _Guide des Voyageurs_; Litvinov fell to reading aloud the description of the environs of Baden. ‘Quite so,’ Kapitolina Markovna interrupted, ‘but there’s something we mustn’t forget. I’m told linen is very cheap here, so we must be sure to buy some for the trousseau.’ Tatyana dropped her eyes. ‘We have plenty of time, aunt. You never think of yourself, but you really ought to get yourself some clothes. You see how smart every one is here.’ ‘Eh, my love! what would be the good of that? I’m not a fine lady! It would be another thing if I were such a beauty as your friend, Grigory Mihalitch, what was her name?’ ‘What friend?’ ‘Why, that we met to-day.’ ‘Oh, she!’ said Litvinov, with feigned indifference, and again he felt disgust and shame. ‘No!’ he thought, ‘to go on like this is impossible.’ He was sitting by his betrothed, while a few inches from her in his side pocket, was Irina’s handkerchief. Kapitolina Markovna went for a minute into the other room. ‘Tanya ...’ said Litvinov, with an effort. It was the first time that day he had called her by that name. She turned towards him. ‘I ... I have something very important to say to you.’ ‘Oh! really? when? directly?’ ‘No, to-morrow.’ ‘Oh! to-morrow. Very well.’ Litvinov’s soul was suddenly filled with boundless pity. He took Tatyana’s hand and kissed it humbly, like a sinner; her heart throbbed faintly and she felt no happiness. In the night, at two o’clock, Kapitolina Markovna, who was sleeping in the same room with her niece, suddenly lifted up her head and listened. ‘Tanya,’ she said, ‘you are crying?’ Tatyana did not at once answer. ‘No, aunt,’ sounded her gentle voice, ‘I’ve caught a cold.’ XX