Aratov. He bore it off to his own room, but for a long time he could not find the text . . . he stumbled, however, on another: 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends' (S. John XV. 13).
He thought: 'That 's not right. It ought to be : Greater power hath no man.'
'But if she did not lay down her life for me at all? If she made an end of herself simply because life had become a burden to her? What if, after all, she did not come to that meeting for anything to do with love at all?'
But at that instant he pictured to himself Clara before their parting on the boulevard. . . . He remembered the look of pain on her face, and the tears and the words, 'Ah, you understood nothing!'
No he could have no doubt why and for whom she had laid down her life. . . .
So passed that whole day till night-time.
XV
Aratov went to bed early, without feeling specially sleepy, but he hoped to find repose in bed. The strained condition of his nerves brought about an exhaustion far more unbear-
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