“How unexpectedly everything has arranged itself,” she thought, with a quiet smile. “How foolish we all are when we make plans, and arrange and fuss and worry, and seriously imagine we can direct our own destinies! God does everything in His own way, and always for the best, since our needs and our characters are far better known to Him than to ourselves. There was I, for instance, imagining that I had nothing more to live for, and, suddenly, God sent me so incomparable a lover, so immense a happiness. In my fairest dreams, I had never seen so ideal a husband—so handsome, so clever, so good, so noble. What a contrast, indeed, between him and the worthless Petrograd officials, with their vulgar ambitions, their greed for money, and their mean and petty spites and jealousies! My noble Sergei! You are like the sun, in comparison to those worms! “And he has such high ideals!” continued Irene dreamily to herself. “How severely he judged that unhappy woman! A little too severely perhaps, but that only proves how seriously he looks upon love. Oh! my dear one, my dear one! “All the priests were wrong when they found my faith pagan. I knew I was right! God wanted to try me with long and dark years of despair and suffering, but finding that I was not embittered, and that I had remained, in spite of everything, honest and good, He has sent me this wonderful happiness as a reward. My faith was the right one, my God has triumphed!” Irene rejoiced and exulted, and life had never seemed so glorious to her before. Suddenly she felt that this was the happiest moment of her existence, and that nothing still happier could or would ever be. She rose, opened the door leading to the balcony, and stepped out. It was still dark, but one could already distinguish the trees, and there were grey streaks in the sky. “Soon the sun will rise,” thought Irene. “How lovely the view must be from the Casino Terrace!” The idea of seeing the sun rise attracted her. “I have lived all this time, and have never once seen it,” she said to herself. “How surprised Sergei will be when I tell him my impressions!” Irene dressed hurriedly, and, having thrown a cloak over her dress and a scarf over her hair, stepped softly out into the corridor. All was quiet, and a grey streak of light was filtering through the glass door leading into the garden. Like a ghost, Irene slipped along the passage, when, suddenly, the slight movement of a door on the right attracted her attention. The door gradually opened, softly, slowly, carefully. Something guilty and horrible seemed suggested by this carefulness. Irene stopped still in the shadow of a large cupboard, her eyes riveted on the moving door.