"Who am I? Nobody in particular! Just someone who has guessed that you are unhappy, and is anxious to help you."
"But ... you must have understood that I didn't want to see you again! I can't receive you here. You shouldn't have come to this house. It's hard on me! Think of the consequences! Perhaps I may lose my place here!"
"Your place here is what you hate more than anything else in the world!"
"How do you know? I'm not so sure.... I have a quiet home—and I'm free!"
The way the man looked at her made her break off. They were both silent for a time, the stranger, however, not taking his eyes from Nacha for a moment. She could see that he wanted to speak, but evidently did not dare. At last, in a low voice and with visible emotion, he began:
"Nacha—you see I know your name—you are not telling me the truth! You are not free!... You are suffering; and last night I saw how much! From the moment I first saw you I have felt a tremendous pity for you."
"Oh, really?" Nacha exclaimed, with a laugh of affected irony, calculated to put an end to the conversation with this man who had forced his way into her house, whose presence there was compromising to her, and who now, into the bargain, was allowing himself to express pity for her.
"Yes, real pity!" he repeated, evidently not understanding that her laugh was aimed at him.
"How kind of you! You must be an unusual sort of person!" Nacha said again, laughing scornfully.