He watched the passing crowd with animosity. They all seemed to him to be dressed in their Sunday best! There go two young Italian brunettes, in fashionable tight skirts, with wide fur scarves on their shoulders, showing, under their short dresses, dainty feet, shod as for a ball in elegant open shoes over open-work silk stockings. Here is a baby being taken for a walk, in a little white piqué summer coat, a hat to match, and a huge collar of white goat-fur! And behind comes something quite wild—two little boys and a girl in sailor suits, without coats, and with bare legs and necks—yet the little girl carries an enormous muff, and the boys have sealskin caps! “I suppose they have heard that people wear furs in the winter, but they don’t know exactly how, so they have made guys of themselves!” muttered Gzhatski crossly. His loneliness was even greater than his despair. He had already decided to risk his health and return to Russia, when his meeting with Irene turned his thoughts into another channel. He had no difficulty in assuring himself that she was the victim of Jesuit priests, that the poor girl was being wickedly deceived, and that it was his duty as a compatriot to come to her aid and save her. With all the accumulated energy of all those idle weeks, he threw himself into the struggle with Père Etienne, and in spite of Irene’s wish to bring her two friends together, Gzhatski curtly refused to make the acquaintance of the “Catholic rogue.” He was very annoyed to see how obstinately Irene defended her friendship with the priest, and used all his eloquence to disillusion her on the subject of convent life.