a lady in a black mantle with a veil on her face twice approached the steps of his hotel. Moving a little aside and gazing far away into the distance, she suddenly made a resolute gesture with her hand, and for the third time went towards the steps. . . .
'Where are you going, Irina Pavlovna?' she heard a voice utter with effort behind her.
She turned with nervous swiftness. . . . Potugin ran up to her.
She stopped short, thought a moment, and fairly flung herself towards him, took his arm, and drew him away.
'Take me away, take me away,' she repeated breathlessly.
'What is it, Irina Pavlovna?' he muttered in bewilderment.
'Take me away,' she reiterated with redoubled force, ' if you don't want me to remain for ever . . . there.'
Potugin bent his head submissively, and hurriedly they went away together.
The following morning early Litvinov was perfectly ready for his journey—into his room walked . . . Potugin.
He went up to him in silence, and in silence shook his hand. Litvinov, too, said nothing. Both of them wore long faces, and both vainly tried to smile.