‘Good-bye, Grigory Mihalitch.... Let me say one word more to you. You still have time to listen to me; there’s more than half an hour before the train starts. You are returning to Russia.... There you will ... in time ... get to work.... Allow an old chatterbox--for, alas, I am a chatterbox, and nothing more--to give you advice for your journey. Every time it is your lot to undertake any piece of work, ask yourself: Are you serving the cause of civilisation, in the true and strict sense of the word; are you promoting one of the ideals of civilisation; have your labours that educating, Europeanising character which alone is beneficial and profitable in our day among us? If it is so, go boldly forward, you are on the right path, and your work is a blessing! Thank God for it! You are not alone now. You will not be a “sower in the desert”; there are plenty of workers ... pioneers ... even among us now.... But you have no ears for this now. Good-bye, don’t forget me!’ Litvinov descended the staircase at a run, flung himself into a carriage, and drove to the station, not once looking round at the town where so much of his personal life was left behind. He abandoned himself, as it were, to the tide; it snatched him up and bore him along, and he firmly resolved not to struggle against it ... all other exercise of independent will he renounced. He was just taking his seat in the railway carriage. ‘Grigory Mihalitch ... Grigory....’ he heard a supplicating whisper behind him. He started.... Could it be Irina? Yes; it was she. Wrapped in her maid’s shawl, a travelling hat on her dishevelled hair, she was standing on the platform, and gazing at him with worn and weary eyes. ‘Come back, come back, I have come for you,’ those eyes were saying. And what, what were they not promising? She did not move, she had not power to add a word; everything about her, even the disorder of her dress, everything seemed entreating forgiveness.... Litvinov was almost beaten, scarcely could he keep from rushing to her.... But the tide to which he had surrendered himself reasserted itself.... He jumped into the carriage, and turning round, he motioned Irina to a place beside him. She understood him. There was still time. One step, one movement, and two lives made one for ever would have been hurried away into the uncertain distance.... While she wavered, a loud whistle sounded and the train moved off.