Five: the talk with Marie in the park.

Six: the wet night at Nijnieff.

Seven: last night's little talk with Semyonov....
Yes, I could see now that I had been advancing always forward into the forest, growing ever nearer and nearer, perceiving now the tactics of the enemy, beaten here, frightened there, but still penetrating--not, as yet, retreating ...

and always, my private little history marching with me, confused with the private little histories of all of the others, all of them penetrating more deeply and more deeply....
And if I lost my nerve I was beaten! If I had lost my nerve no protecting of Marie, no defiance of Semyonov--and, far beyond these, abject submission to my enemy in the forest.
_If_ I had lost my nerve!...

_Had_ I?
Was it only weariness the other night?
But twice now I had been properly beaten, and why, after all, should I imagine that I would be able to put up a fight--I who had never in all my life fought anything successfully?
I lay on my back, looked at the sky.
I sat up, looked at the country, I set my teeth, looked at Nikitin.
Nikitin grunted.