"But it is," he answered, looking at me with friendliness; "that is precisely why I've come. I've come to say good-bye." "Good-bye?" I repeated with astonishment. This chimed in so strangely with my premonition. "I never was more delighted to hear it. I hope you're going a long distance from us all." "That's as may be," he answered. "I can't tell you definitely." "When are you going?" I asked. "That I can't tell you either. But I have a premonition that it will be soon." "Oh, a premonition," I said, disappointed. "Is nothing settled?" "No, not definitely. It depends on others." "Have you told Vera and Nicholas?" "No--in fact, only last night Vera begged me to go away, and I told her that I would love to do anything to oblige her, but this time I was afraid that I couldn't help her. I would be compelled, alas, to stay on indefinitely." "Look here, Semyonov," I said, "stop that eternal fooling. Tell me honestly--are you going or not?" "Going away from where?" he asked, laughing. "From the Markovitches, from all of us, from Petrograd?" "Yes--I've told you already," he answered. "I've come to say good-bye." "Then what did you mean by telling Vera--" "Never you mind, Ivan Andreievitch. Don't worry your poor old head with things that are too complicated for you--a habit of yours, I'm afraid. Just believe me when I say that I've come to say good-bye. I have an intuition that we shall never talk together again. I may be wrong. But my intuitions are generally correct." I noticed then that his face was haggard, his eyes dark, the light in them exhausted as though he had not slept.... I had never before seen him show positive physical distress. Let his soul be what it might, his body seemed always triumphant. "Whether your intuition is right or no," I said, "this _is_ the last time. I never intend to speak to you again if I can help it. The day that I hear that you have really left us, never to return, will be one of the happiest days of my life." Semyonov gave me a strange look, humorous, ironical, and, upon my word, almost affectionate: "That's very sad what you say, Ivan Andreievitch--if you mean it. And I suppose you mean it, because you English always do mean what you say.... But it's sad because, truly, I have friendly feelings towards you, and you're almost the only man in the world of whom I could say that." "You speak as though your friendship were an honour," I said hotly. "It's a degradation." He smiled. "Now that's melodrama, straight out of your worst English plays. _And_ how bad they can be!... But you hadn't always this vehement hatred. What's changed your mind?"