But at this critical moment, he remembered, it seems, my injunction to him, "to be kind to Markovitch--to make a friend of him." That had always seemed to him before impossible enough, but now, at the very moment when Markovitch was at his queerest, he was also at his most pathetic, looking there in the mist and shadows too untidy and dirty and miserable to be really alarming. Henry then took courage. "That's all nonsense, Markovitch," he said. "I suppose by 'your English friend' you mean Lawrence. He thinks the world of your wife, of course, as we all do, but he's not the fellow to be in love. I don't suppose he's ever been really in love with a woman in his life. He's a kindly good-hearted chap, Lawrence, and he wouldn't do harm to a fly." Markovitch peered into Bohun's face. "What did you come here for, any of you?" he asked. "What's Russia over-run with foreigners for? We'll clear the lot of you out, all of you...." Then he broke off, with a pathetic little gesture, his hand up to his head. "But I don't know what I'm saying--I don't mean it, really. Only things are so difficult, and they slip away from one so. "I love Russia and I love my wife, Mr. Bohun--and they've both left me. But you aren't interested in that. Why should you be? Only remember when you're inclined to laugh at me that I'm like a man in a cockle-shell boat--and it isn't my fault. I was put in it." "But I'm never inclined to laugh," said Bohun eagerly. "I may be young and only an Englishman--but I shouldn't wonder if I don't understand better than you think. You try and see.... And I'll tell you another thing, Nicolai Leontievitch, I loved your wife myself--loved her madly--and she was so good to me and so far above me, that I saw that it was like loving one of the angels. That's what we all feel, Nicolai Leontievitch, so that you needn't have any fear--she's too far above all of us. And I only want to be your friend and hers, and to help you in any way I can." (I can see Bohun saying this, very sincere, his cheeks flushed, eager.) Markovitch held out both his hands. "You're right," he cried. "She's above us all. It's true that she's an angel, and we are all her servants. You have helped me by saying what you have, and I won't forget it. You are right; I am wasting my time with ridiculous suspicions when I ought to be working. Concentration, that's what I want, and perhaps you will give it me." He suddenly came forward and kissed Bohun on both cheeks. He smelt, Bohun thought, of vodka. Bohun didn't like the embrace, of course, but he accepted it gracefully. "Now we'll go away," said Markovitch. "We ought to put things straight," said Bohun. "No; I shall leave things as they are," said Markovitch, "so that he shall see exactly what I've done. I'll write a note." He scribbled a note to me in pencil. I have it still. It ran: