Amid the applause that followed the completion of the performance, Pavel Pavlovitch came forward, seized Nadia’s hand and drew her away from the proximity of Velchaninoff; he then returned to the latter at the piano, and, with every evidence of frantic rage, whispered to him, his lips all of a tremble, “One moment with you!” Velchaninoff, seeing that the man was capable of worse things in his then frame of mind, took Pavel’s hand and led him out through the balcony into the garden—quite dark now. “Do you understand, sir, that you must come away at once—_this very minute_?” said Pavel Pavlovitch. “No, sir, I do not!” “Do you remember,” continued Pavel in his frenzied whisper, “do you remember that you begged me to tell you _all_, _everything_—down to the smallest details? Well, the time has come for telling you all—come!” Velchaninoff considered a moment, glanced once more at Pavel Pavlovitch, and consented to go. “Oh! stay and have another cup of tea!” said Mrs. Zachlebnikoff, when this decision was announced. “Pavel Pavlovitch, why are you taking Alexey Ivanovitch away?” cried the girls, with angry looks. As for Nadia, she looked so cross with Pavel, that the latter felt absolutely uncomfortable; but he did not give in. “Oh, but I am very much obliged to Pavel Pavlovitch,” said Velchaninoff, “for reminding me of some most important business which I must attend to this very evening, and which I might have forgotten,” laughed Velchaninoff, as he shook hands with his host and made his bow to the ladies, especially to Katia, as the family thought. “You must come again soon!” said the host; “we have been so glad to see you; it was so good of you to come!” “Yes, _so_ glad!” said the lady of the house. “Do come again soon!” cried the girls, as Pavel Pavlovitch and Velchaninoff took their seats in the carriage; “Alexey Ivanovitch, _do_ come back soon!” And with these voices in their ears they drove away. CHAPTER XIII. In spite of Velchaninoff’s apparently happy day, the feeling of annoyance and suffering at his heart had hardly actually left him for a single moment. Before he sang the song he had not known what to do with himself, or suppressed anger and melancholy—perhaps that was the reason why he had sung with so much feeling and passion. “To think that I could so have lowered myself as to forget everything!” he thought—and then despised himself for thinking it; “it is more humiliating still to cry over what is done,” he continued. “Far better to fly into a passion with someone instead.” “Fool!” he muttered—looking askance at Pavel Pavlovitch, who sat beside him as still as a mouse. Pavel Pavlovitch preserved a most obstinate silence—probably concentrating and ranging his energies. He occasionally took his hat off, impatiently, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Once—and once only—Pavel spoke, to the coachman, he asked whether there was going to be a thunder-storm.