not be entreating you ... I should not have come here. I want ... I must
... you yourself said I ought to defend her memory!'

'And you were not in love with my sister?' Anna asked a second time.

Aratov did not at once reply, and he turned aside a little, as though in
pain.

'Well, then! I was! I was--I'm in love now,' he cried in the same tone of
despair.

Steps were heard in the next room.

'Get up ... get up ...' said Anna hurriedly. 'Mamma is coming.'

Aratov rose.

'And take the diary and the photograph, in God's name! Poor, poor Katia!...
But you will give me back the diary,' she added emphatically. 'And if you
write anything, be sure to send it me.... Do you hear?'

The entrance of Madame Milovidov saved Aratov from the necessity of a
reply. He had time, however, to murmur, 'You are an angel! Thanks! I will
send anything I write....'

Madame Milovidov, half awake, did not suspect anything. So Aratov left
Kazan with the photograph in the breast-pocket of his coat. The diary he
gave back to Anna; but, unobserved by her, he cut out the page on which
were the words underlined.