"My dear one, when I come to die," is that yours too?'
'Yes . . . yes. But please leave off. . . Don't torment me.'
Marianna shook her head.
'It's very melancholy—that poem. . . . I hope you wrote it before you knew me. But it's real poetry so far as I can judge. It seems to me you might have been an author, only I know for certain that you have a better, higher vocation than literature. It was all very well to be busy with that—before, when nothing else was possible.'
Nezhdanov bent a rapid glance upon her.
'You think so? Yes, I agree with you. Better failure in this than success in the other.'
Marianna rose impulsively.
'Yes, my dearest, you are right!' she cried, and her whole face was radiant, glowing with the fire and light of rapture, with the softening of generous emotion: 'you are right, Alexey! But perhaps we shall not fail at once; we shall succeed, you will see—we shall be useful, our life shall not be spent in vain, we will go and live among the people.. . . Do you know any trade? No? well, never mind, we will work, we will devote to them, our brothers, all we know. I will cook, and sew, and wash, if need be. . ., You shall see, you shall see.. . . And there'll
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