"You are innocent, Kseniya," he replied. "Oh, there you go again!" she cried impatiently. "Always sin and innocence! I am a stupid woman, full of beliefs and superstitions-- nothing more--like all women. I want to conceive here, to breed and bear a child here. Do you wish to be the father?" She stood up, looking intently into Polunin's eyes. "What are you saying, Kseniya?" he asked in a low, grave, pained tone. "I have told you what I want. Give me a child and then go--anywhere-- back to your Alena! I have not forgotten that June and July." "I cannot," Polunin replied firmly; "I love Alena." "I do not want love," she persisted; "I have no need of it. Indeed I have not, for I do not even love you!" She spoke in a low, faint voice, and passed her hand over her face. "I must go," the man said at last. She looked at him sharply. "Where to?" "How do you mean 'where to'? I must go away altogether!" "Ah, those tragedies, duties, and sins again!" she cried, her eyes burning into his with hatred and contempt. "Isn't it all perfectly simple? Didn't you make a contract with me?" "I have never made one without love. And I love only Alena. I must go." "Oh, what cruel, ascetical egoism!" she cried violently. Then suddenly all her rage died down, and she sat quietly in the chair, covering her face with her hands. Polunin stood by, his shoulders bowed, his arms hanging limply. His face betrayed grief and anxiety. Kseniya looked up at him with a wan smile: "It is all right--there is no need to go... It was only my nonsense.... I was merely venting my anger.... Don't mind me .... I am tired and harassed. Of course I have not been purged. I know that is impossible... We are the 'heisha-girls of lantern-light'.... You remember Annensky? ... Give me your hand." Polunin stretched out his large hand, took her yielding one in his and pressed its delicate fingers. "You have forgiven me?" she murmured. He looked at her helplessly, then muttered: "I cannot either forgive or not forgive. But ... I cannot!" "Never mind; we shall forget. We shall be cheerful and happy. You remember: 'Where beauty shines amidst mire and baseness there is only torment'.... You need not mind, it is all over!" She uttered the last few words with a cry, raised herself erect, and laughed aloud with forced gaiety. "We shall tell fortunes, jest, drink, be merry--like our grandfathers ... you remember! ...Had not our grandmothers their coachmen friends?" She rang the bell and the butler came in. "Bring in more tea. Light the fire and the lamps." The fire burnt brightly and illuminated the leather-covered chairs. The portrait frames on the walls shone golden through the darkness. Polunin paced up and down the room, his hands behind his back; his footsteps were muffled in the thick carpet. Sleigh bells began to ring outside. It was just ten o'clock as the guests assembled from the town and the neighbouring estates. They were received in the drawing-room.