Nejdanov paced up and down the room several times, then turned down the corridor and knocked gently at Mariana’s door. There was no response. He knocked again—then he turned the handle of the door. It was locked. But he had hardly got back to his own room and sat down, when the door creaked softly and Mariana’s voice was heard: “Alexai Dmitritch, was that you came to me?”
He jumped up instantly and rushed out into the corridor. Mariana was standing at his door with a candle in her hand, pale and motionless.
“Yes ... I—” he murmured.
“Come,” she said, turning down the corridor, but before reaching the end she stopped and pushed open a low door. Nejdanov looked into a small, almost bare room.
“We had better go in here, Alexai Dmitritch, no one will disturb us here.”
Nejdanov obeyed. Mariana put the candlestick on a window-sill and turned to him.
“I understand why you wanted to see me,” she began. “It is wretched for you to live in this house, and for me too.”
“Yes, I wanted to see you, Mariana Vikentievna,” Nejdanov replied, “but I do not feel wretched here since I’ve come to know you.”
Mariana smiled pensively.
“Thank you, Alexai Dmitritch. But tell me, do you really intend stopping here after all that has happened?”