opposition on Litvinov's side, and the wealth of impulsive tenderness on Irina's, they did not get on quite without any misunderstandings and quarrels. One day he ran to her straight from the university in an old coat and ink-stained hands. She rushed to meet him with her accustomed fond welcome; suddenly she stopped short.
'You have no gloves,' she said abruptly, and added directly after: 'Fie! what a student you are!'
'You are too particular, Irina,' remarked Litvinov.
'You are a regular student,' she repeated.
' Vous n'êtes pas distingué' ; and turning her back on him she went out of the room. It is true that an hour later she begged him to forgive her. ... As a rule she readily censured herself and accused herself to him; but, strange to say, she often almost with tears blamed herself for evil propensities which she had not, and obstinately denied her real defects. Another time he found her in tears, her head in her hands, and her hair in disorder; and when, all in agitation, he asked her the cause of her grief, she pointed with her finger at her own bosom without speaking. Litvinov gave an involuntary shiver. 'Consumption!' flashed through his brain, and he seized her hand.