We traversed several rooms.... At last, in one of them, she paused in front of a small divan near the window, and seated herself. I sat down beside her. She slowly turned her head toward me, and looked intently at me. "Do you .... do you come from _him_?" she said. Her voice was weak and unsteady... Her question somewhat disconcerted me. "No .... not from him,"--I replied haltingly. "Do you know him?" "Yes,"--I replied, with mysterious solemnity. I wanted to keep up my rôle.--"Yes, I know him." She looked distrustfully at me, started to say something, and dropped her eyes. "You were waiting for him in Sorrento,"--I went on;--"you met him at Mikhaílovskoe, you rode on horseback with him...." "How could you ...." she began. "I know ... I know all...." "Your face seems familiar to me, somehow,"--she continued:--"but no ...." "No, I am a stranger to you." "Then what is it that you want?" "I know that also,"--I persisted. I understood very well that I must take advantage of the excellent beginning to go further, that my repetitions of "I know all, I know," were becoming ridiculous--but my agitation was so great, that unexpected meeting had thrown me into such confusion, I had lost my self-control to such a degree that I positively was unable to say anything else. Moreover, I really knew nothing more. I felt conscious that I was talking nonsense, felt conscious that, from the mysterious, omniscient being which I must at first appear to her to be, I should soon be converted into a sort of grinning fool .... but there was no help for it. "Yes, I know all,"--I muttered once more. She darted a glance at me, rose quickly to her feet, and was on the point of departing. But this was too cruel. I seized her hand. "For God's sake,"--I began,--"sit down, listen to me...." She reflected, and seated herself. "I just told you,"--I went on fervently,--"that I knew everything--that is nonsense. I know nothing; I do not know either who you are, or who he is, and if I have been able to surprise you by what I said to you a while ago by the column, you must ascribe that to chance alone, to a strange, incomprehensible chance, which, as though in derision, has brought me in contact with you twice, and almost in identically the same way on both occasions, and has made me the involuntary witness of that which, perhaps, you would like to keep secret...." And thereupon, without the slightest circumlocution, I related to her everything: my meetings with her in Sorrento, in Russia, my futile inquiries in Mikhaílovskoe, even my conversation in Moscow with Madame Shlýkoff and her sister.