had a letter for Nezhdanov. . . . "Don't go to the factory," he said to me, "don't take the letter; it will be the breaking-up of everything there. Stay away! They're both happy there. . . . So let them be! Don't meddle!" I should be glad not to meddle . . . but what was I to do about the letter?'
'You must give it without fail,' Marianna assented. 'But oh, how kind he is, Sergei Mihalitch! Can it be that he will be killed, Mashurina . . . or be sent to Siberia?'
'Well, what then? Don't people come back from Siberia? And as for losing one's life! Life's sweet to some, and to some it's bitter. His life is not made of refined sugar either.'
Mashurina again turned an intent and inquisitive gaze on Marianna.
'Yes, you are certainly beautiful,' she cried at last, 'a perfect little bird! I'm beginning to think Alexey's not coming.. . . Shouldn't I give you the letter? Why wait?'
'I will give it him, you may rest assured.'
Mashurina rested her cheek in her hand, and for a long, long time she did not speak.
'Tell me,' she began. . . 'excuse me . . . do you love him very much?'
'Yes.'
Mashurina shook her heavy head.
'Well, there's no need to inquire whether
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