"Ah, yes, how well I understand this!" replied Nasanski with a friendly smile, nodding his head all the time. "A delicate white thread charged with electrical currents. What a store of poetry is enshrined in that! My dear fellow, life is so beautiful!" Nasanski, absorbed in profound reverie, grew silent, and his blue eyes were bright with tears. Romashov also felt touched, and there was something nervous, hysterical, and spontaneous about this melancholy of his, but these expressions of pity were not only for Nasanski, but himself. "Vasili Nilich, I admire you," cried he as he grasped and warmly pressed both Nasanski's hands. "But how can so gifted, far-sighted, and wide-awake a man as you rush, with his eyes open, to his own destruction? But I am the last person on earth who ought to read you a lesson on morals. Only one more question: supposing in the course of your life you happened to meet a woman worthy of you, and capable of appreciating you, would you then----? I've thought of this so often." Nasanski stopped and stared for a long time through the open window. "A woman----" he uttered the word slowly and dreamily. "I'll tell you a story," he continued suddenly and in an energetic tone. "Once in my life I met an exceptional--ah! wonderful--woman, a young girl, but as Heine somewhere says: 'She was worthy of being loved, and he loved her; but he was not worthy, and she did not love him.' Her love waned because I drank, or perhaps it was I drank because she did not love me. _She_--by the way, it was not here that this happened. It was a long time ago, and you possibly know that I first served in the infantry for three years, after that for four years with the reserves, and for a second time, three years ago, I came here. Well, to continue, between her and me there was no romance whatever. We met and had five or six chats together--that was all. But have you ever thought what an irresistible, bewitching might there is in the past, in our recollections? The memory of these few insignificant episodes of my life constitutes the whole of my wealth. I love her even to this very day. Wait, Romashov, you deserve to hear it--I will read out to you the first and only letter I ever received from her." He crouched down before the old trunk, opened it, and began rummaging impatiently among a mass of old papers, during which he kept on talking. "I know she never loved any one but herself. There was a depth of pride, imperiousness, even cruelty about her, yet, at the same time, she was so good, so genuinely womanly, so infinitely pleasant and lovable. She had two natures--the one egoistical and calculating, the other all heart and passionate tenderness. See here, I have it. Read it now, Romashov. The beginning will not interest you much" (Nasanski turned over a few lines of the letter), "but read from here; read it all."