She felt that loneliness was embracing her with ever wider arms and surrounding her soul with an emptiness into which she gazed defiantly. Her sorrow, the thought of her father and Grzesikiewicz, all her former acquaintances and her whole past seemed to be flowing on far behind her so that she saw them dimly in the distant gray mist and only the faint echo of an entreaty or of weeping seemed to reach her now and then. No! she would not have the strength to turn back and swim against that current that was bearing her onward. Nevertheless, she felt that tears were dropping upon her heart and burning it with bitterness. They disembarked at the landing-stage at Bielany and began to wind their way up the hill. Janina walked ahead of the company with Kotlicki who did not leave her for a moment. "You owe me a reply," he said after a while, assuming a tender expression. "I answered you yesterday, and to-day you owe me an explanation," she said harshly, for now, after that recent conversation with Grzesikiewicz and all that it had cost her, she felt an almost physical aversion and hatred toward Kotlicki; he struck her as repulsive and brazen. "An explanation? . . . Can one explain love or analyze a feeling? . . ." he began, uneasily biting his thin lips. He did not like the tone of her voice. "Let us be sincere, for what you told me is . . ." she cried impulsively. "Is sincerity itself." "No, it is only a comedy!" Janina retorted sharply and felt a great desire to strike him in the face. "You offend me! One can believe a person's feelings without sharing them," he said in a quieter tone so that those who followed them would not hear.