Sometimes his solitude was broken by the intrusion of external life and external, unemotional love. A woman used to come in to him sometimes--a strange, undemanding woman who seemed to come from nowhere and to lead to nowhere. Trirodov had had relations with her for several months. She was an instructress in the local girls’ school, Ekaterina Nikolayevna Alkina--a quiet, tranquil, cold creature with dark red hair and a thin face, the dull pallor of which emphasized the impressively vivid lips of her large mouth; it seemed as if all the sensuality and colour of the face had poured themselves into the lips and made them startlingly and painfully vivid and suggestive of sin. She had married and had parted from her husband. She had a son, who lived with her. She was an S.D.[14] and worked in the organization, but all this was merely incidental in her life. She met Trirodov in party work. Her comrades understood as by some intuition that in order to carry on negotiations with Trirodov, who did not permit himself any intimacy with them, it was necessary to choose this woman. And now Alkina had come again, and began as always: “I’ve come on business.” Trirodov regarded her with a deep, tranquil glance and answered her with the usual commonplaces of welcome. Slightly agitated by hidden desires, Alkina spoke of the “business” in hand. It had already been decided that the party orator who was to come to speak at the projected mass meeting would be quartered at Trirodov’s: this was thought to be the least dangerous place. Alkina came to say that the orator was expected that evening. It was necessary to bring him to Trirodov’s house in such a way that the town should not know anything about it. As soon as they had decided at what entrance he should be received Trirodov went out of the room to make the necessary arrangements. The agreeable consciousness of creative mystery filled him with joy. When Trirodov returned Alkina was standing at the table and turning over the pages of a new book. Her hands trembled slightly. She glanced expectantly at Trirodov. She appeared to wish to say something meaningful and tender--but instead she resumed her remarks on business. She told him what was new in town, in her school, in the organization--about the confiscation of the local newspaper, about personalities ordered to leave town by the police, about the factory ferment. “Who will be our own speakers at the mass meeting?” asked Trirodov. “Bodeyev, from the school, for one.” “I do not like his manner of speaking,”, said Trirodov. “He’s a good party workman,” observed Alkina with a timid smile. “He’s to be valued for that.” “You know, of course, that I am not much of a party man,” said Trirodov. Alkina was silent. She trembled lightly as she rose from her seat, then suddenly ceased to be agitated. Only her vivid lips, speaking slowly, seemed to be alive in her pale face. “Giorgiy Sergeyevitch, will you love me a little?”