ABOUT a week passed since Foma spoke to Medinskaya.

And her image stood fixedly before Foma by night and by day, awakening in his heart a gnawing feeling of anxiety.

He longed to go to her, and was so much afflicted over her that even his bones were aching from the desire of his heart to be near her again.

But he was sternly silent; he frowned and did not care to yield to this desire, industriously occupying himself with his affairs and provoking in himself a feeling of anger against the woman.

He felt that if he went up to her, he would no longer find her to be the same as he had left her; something must have changed within her after that conversation, and she would no longer receive him as cordially as before, would not smile at him the clear smile that used to awaken in him strange thoughts and hopes.