Hainán now thought that his master would start his usual questions about gods and Adjutants, and stood ready to begin with a cunning smile on his face, when Romashov said-- "That will do; you can go." "Shall I not lay out your Honour's new uniform?" asked the ever-attentive Hainán. Romashov was silent and pondered. First he would say "Yes," then "No," and again "Yes." At last, after a long, deep sigh, uttered in the descending scale, he replied in a tone of resignation-- "No, Hainán, never mind about that--get the samovar ready and then run off to the mess for my supper." "I will stay away to-day," whispered he to himself. "It doesn't do to bore people to death by calling on them like that every day. And, besides, it is plain I am not a man people long for." His resolution to stay at home that evening seemed fixed enough, and yet an inner voice told him that even to-day, as on most other days during the past three months, he would go to the Nikoläievs'. Every time he bade these friends of his good-bye at midnight, he had, with shame and indignation at his own weakness and lack of character, sworn to himself on his honour that he would not pay another call there for two or three weeks. Nay, he had even made up his mind to give up altogether these uncalled-for visits. And all the while he was on his way home, whilst he was undressing, ah! even up to the moment he fell asleep, he believed it would be an easy matter for him to keep his resolution. The night went by, the morning dawned, and the day dragged on slowly and unwillingly, evening came, and once more an irresistible force drew him to this handsome and elegant abode, with its warm, well-lighted, comfortable rooms, where peace, harmony, cheerful and confidential conversation, and, above all, the delightful enchantment of feminine beauty awaited him.