"No."
He quickly whipped his purse out of his pocket, opened it, and handed it to her.
"Here, please take some."
She smiled involuntarily, and shaking her head, observed:
"Everything about all of you is different from other people. Even money has no value for you. People do anything to get money; they kill their souls for it. But for you money is so many little pieces of paper, little bits of copper. You seem to keep it by you just out of kindness to people."
Nikolay Ivanovich laughed softly.
"It's an awfully bothersome article, money is. Both to take it and to give it is embarrassing."
He caught her hand, pressed it warmly, and asked again:
"So you will try to come soon, won't you?"
And he walked away quietly, as was his wont.