But for nine long months have the books lain undisturbed on their shelves, forgotten by Hainán, whose business it is to dust them. Heaps of newspapers, not even stripped of their wrappers, lie cast in a pile beneath the writing-table, and the æsthetic magazine to which we just referred has ceased to reach Romashov on account of repeated "irregularities" with regard to the half-yearly payment. Sub-Lieutenant Romashov drinks a good deal of vodka at mess; he has a tedious and loathsome liaison with a married woman belonging to the regiment, whose consumptive and jealous husband he deceives in strict accordance with all the rules of art; he plays _schtoss_,[4] and more and more frequently comes into unpleasant collisions both in the service and also in the circles of his friends and acquaintances. "Pardon me, your Honour," shouted his servant, entering the room noisily. Then he added in a friendly, simple, good-natured tone: "I forgot to mention that a letter has come from Mrs. Peterson. The orderly who brought it is waiting for an answer." Romashov frowned, took the letter, tore open a long, slender, rose-coloured envelope, in a corner of which fluttered a dove with a letter in its beak. "Light the lamp, Hainán," said he to his servant. MY DEAR DARLING IRRESISTIBLE LITTLE GEORGI (read Romashov in the sloping, crooked lines he knew so well),--For a whole week you have not been to see me, and yesterday I was so miserable without you that I lay and wept the whole night. Remember that if you fool me or deceive me I shall not survive it. One single drop of poison and I shall be freed from my tortures for ever; but, as for you, conscience shall gnaw you for ever and ever. You must--must come to me to-night at half-past seven. _He_ is not at home, he is somewhere--on tactical duty or whatever it is called. Do come! I kiss you a thousand thousand times. Yours always, RAISA. P.S.-- Have you forgotten the river fast rushing, Under the willow-boughs wending its way, Kisses you gave me, dear, burning and crushing, When in your strong arms I tremblingly lay? P.SS.--You must absolutely attend the soirée next Saturday at the officers' mess. I will give you the third quadrille. You understand. A long way down on the fourth page lay written-- I have kissed here.