'With the greatest regret,' wrote some local contributor from Kazan, 'we
must add to our dramatic record the news of the sudden death of our gifted
actress Clara Militch, who had succeeded during the brief period of her
engagement in becoming a favourite of our discriminating public. Our regret
is the more poignant from the fact that Miss Militch by her own act cut
short her young life, so full of promise, by means of poison. And this
dreadful deed was the more awful through the talented actress taking the
fatal drug in the theatre itself. She had scarcely been taken home when to
the universal grief, she expired. There is a rumour in the town that an
unfortunate love affair drove her to this terrible act.'

Aratov slowly laid the paper on the table. In outward appearance he
remained perfectly calm ... but at once something seemed to strike him a
blow in the chest and the head--and slowly the shock passed on through all
his limbs. He got up, stood still on the spot, and sat down again, again
read through the paragraph. Then he got up again, lay down on the bed,
and clasping his hands behind, stared a long while at the wall, as though
dazed. By degrees the wall seemed to fade away ... vanished ... and he
saw facing him the boulevard under the grey sky, and _her_ in her black
cape ... then her on the platform ... saw himself even close by her. That
something which had given him such a violent blow in the chest at the first
instant, began mounting now ... mounting into his throat.... He tried to
clear his throat; tried to call some one--but his voice failed him--and,
to his own astonishment, tears rushed in torrents from his eyes ... what
called forth these tears? Pity? Remorse? Or was it simply his nerves could
not stand the sudden shock?

Why, she was nothing to him? was she?

'But, perhaps, it's not true after all,' the thought came as a sudden