"Who's there?" she asked in a loud whisper.
Peredonov stepped a little away from the wall and looked into the narrow opening of the door where it was dark and quiet, and asked also in a tremulous whisper:
"Has Nikolai Mikhailovitch gone?"
"Yes, he's gone, he's gone," she whispered joyously.
Peredonov glanced timidly around him and followed her into the dark passage.
"I'm sorry I have no light," whispered Julia, "but I'm afraid someone might see and they might gossip."
She led Peredonov up the staircase into a corridor, where a small lamp hung, throwing a dim light on the upper stairs. Julia laughed quietly and joyously, and her ribbons trembled from her laughter.
"Yes, he's gone," she whispered gleefully, as she looked around and scrutinised Peredonov with passionately burning eyes. "I was afraid he would remain at home to-night as he was in a great rage. But he couldn't do without his game of whist. I've even sent the maid away—there's only the baby's nurse in the house—otherwise we might be interrupted. For you know what sort of people there are nowadays."
A heat came from Julia—she was hot and dry, like a splinter. Once or twice she caught Peredonov by the sleeve, and these quick contacts seemed to send small dry fires through his whole body. They walked quietly and on tip-toe through the corridor, past several closed doors, and stopped at the last—it was the door of the children's room....