"Ah! that is over!" Nicholas said, so low that I scarcely heard it. I do not know what then exactly happened. I think that Vera put out her hand to cover Nicholas'. At any rate I saw him draw his away, very gently. It lay on the table, and the only sound beside the voices was the tiny rattle of his nails as his hand trembled against the woodwork. Vera said something that I did not catch. "No..." Nicholas said. "No... We must be true with one another, Vera. I have been drinking too much wine. My head is aching, and perhaps my words are not very clear. But it gives me courage to say what I have in my mind. I haven't thought out yet what we must do. Perhaps you can help me. But I must tell you that I saw everything that happened here on that Thursday afternoon in the week of the Revolution--" Vera made a little movement of distress "Yes, you didn't know--but I was in my room--where Alexei sleeps now, you know. I couldn't help seeing. I'm very sorry." "No, Nicholas, I'm very glad," Vera answered quietly. "I would have told you in any case. I should have told you before. I love him and he loves me, just as you saw. I would like Ivan Andreievitch and Uncle Ivan and every one to know. There is nothing to conceal. I have never loved any one before, and I'm not ashamed of loving some one now.... It doesn't alter our life, Nicholas. I care for you just as I did care, and I will do just as you tell me. I will never see him again if that's what you wish, but I shall always love him." "Ah, Vera--you are cruel." Nicholas gave a little cry like a hurt animal, then he went away from us, standing for a moment looking at us. "We'll have to consider what we must do. I don't know. I can't think to-night.... And you, Alexei, you leave me alone...." He went stumbling away towards his bedroom. Vera said nothing to any of us. She got up slowly, looked about her for a moment as though she were bewildered by the light and then went after Nicholas. I turned to Semyonov. "You'd better go back to your own place," I said. "Not yet, thank you," he answered, smiling. IX On the afternoon of Easter Monday I was reminded by Bohun of an engagement that I had made some weeks before to go that evening to a party at the house of a rich merchant, Rozanov by name. I have, I think, mentioned him earlier in this book. I cannot conceive why I had ever made the promise, and in the afternoon, meeting Bohun at Watkins' bookshop in the Morskaia, I told him that I couldn't go. "Oh, come along!" he said. "It's your duty." "Why my duty?" "They're all talking as hard as they can about saving the world by turning the other cheek, and so on; and a few practical facts about Germany from you will do a world of good." "Oh, your propaganda!" I said. "No, it isn't my propaganda," he answered. "It's a matter of life and death to get these people to go on with the war, and every little helps."