I admit I was alarmed lest my companion, engrossed though he was with his breakfast, might hear some rather unpleasant things, supposing Grushnitsky had guessed the truth. Blinded by jealousy, however, the latter did not even suspect what had happened.

"So you see," Grushnitsky continued, "we set off taking along a gun loaded with a blank charge in order to give the fellow a fright. Until two o'clock we waited in the garden. Finally he appeared, the Lord knows from where, only it wasn't through the window because it didn't open-he probably came through the glass door hidden behind a column-finally, as I say, we saw somebody climbing down from the balcony... What do you think of the young princess, eh? I must admit, these Moscow ladies are incredible! What can you believe in after this? We tried to hold him, but he broke loose and scurried for the bushes like a rabbit-that's when I shot at him."

A murmur of incredulity broke out around Grushnitsky.

"You don't believe me?" he continued. "I give you my word of honor that this is the downright truth, and to prove it, perhaps I will mention the name of the gentleman in question."

"Who was it, who was it?" came from all sides.

"Pechorin," replied Grushnitsky.

At that moment he raised his eyes-to see me standing in the doorway facing him. He turned scarlet. I stepped up to him and said very slowly and distinctly: "I am very sorry that I entered after you had already given your word of honor in confirmation of the most abominable piece of slander. My presence might have saved you from that added villainy."

Grushnitsky leapt to his feet, all ready to flare up.

"I beg of you," I continued in the same tone of voice, "I beg of you to retract at once what you have said; you are very well aware that it is a lie. I do not believe that the indifference of a woman to your brilliant qualities deserves such dreadful retaliation. Think it over well: if you persist in your opinion, you forfeit any right to your reputation as a man of honor and risk your life."

Grushnitsky stood before me, eyes downcast, in violent agitation. But the struggle between conscience and vanity was brief. The captain of dragoons, who was sitting next to him, nudged him with his elbow. He twitched and quickly replied to me without raising his eyes: "My dear sir, when I say something, I mean it, and am ready to repeat it... Your threats do not intimidate me and I'll stop at nothing."

"The last you have already proved," I replied coldly, and taking the arm of the captain of dragoons, led him out of the room.

"What do you want with me?" asked the captain.

"You are a friend of Grushnitsky's and will probably be his second?"

The captain bowed with much hauteur.

"You've guessed right," he replied. "Moreover, I'm obliged to be his second, for the insult you have offered him concerns me too... I was with him last night," he added, squaring his stooping shoulders.

"Ah, so it was you I hit so clumsily on the head?"

He went yellow, then blue. Suppressed anger showed on his face.

"I will have the honor to send my second to you shortly," I added, bowing very politely and pretending to ignore his fury.

On the steps of the restaurant I met Vera's husband. He had evidently been waiting for me.

He grabbed my hand with something like rapture.

"Noble-minded young man!" he said with tears in his eyes. "I heard everything. What a scoundrel! The ingratitude! Just think of admitting them into a respectable house after this! Thank God I have no daughters! But she for whom you are risking your life will reward you. You may be assured of my discretion for the time being," he continued. "I was young once myself and served in the army; I know one mustn't interfere in affairs like this. Goodbye!"

Poor fellow! He is glad that he has no daughters...

I went straight to Werner, whom I found at home, and told him everything-my relations with Vera and Princess Mary and the conversation I had overheard, which showed me these gentlemen's intentions to make a fool of me by having us shoot it out with blank charges. Now, however, that affair had overstepped the bounds of a joke. They probably had not expected it to end like this.

The doctor agreed to act as my second. I gave him a few instructions concerning the conditions of the duel-he was to insist on the greatest secrecy, for, though I am always ready to risk my life, I am not disposed in the slightest to spoil my future in this world for all time to come.

Afterwards I went home. An hour later the doctor returned from his expedition.

"There is indeed a conspiracy against you," he said. "I found the captain of dragoons and another gentleman, whose name I do not remember, at Grushnitsky's. I stopped for a moment in the hallway to take off my galoshes. Inside there was a terrific noise and argument going on. 'I will not agree on any account!' Grushnitsky was saying. 'He insulted me publicly; previously it was an entirely different matter...' 'Why should it concern you?' replied the captain. 'I'm taking everything upon myself. I've been a second in five duels and know how these things are arranged. I've thought it out in every detail. Only be so good as not to interfere with me. It'll do him good to give him a fright. So why should you run a risk if you don't have to?..." At that point I walked in. They immediately fell silent. Our negotiations lasted for quite a while, and finally we came to the following arrangement: about three miles from here there is a lonely gorge. They'll go there tomorrow morning at four o'clock, and we are to leave half an hour later. You'll fire at six paces-Grushnitsky insisted on that distance himself. The dead man is to be credited to the Circassians. Now I'll tell you what I suspect: they, the seconds, I mean, have apparently amended the earlier scheme somewhat and want to put a bullet only into Grushnitsky's pistol. It looks rather like murder, but cunning is permitted in wartime, particularly in an Asiatic war. I dare say, though, that Grushnitsky is a slightly better man than his comrades. What do you think? Should we let them know that we have guessed their stratagem?"

"Not for anything in the world, doctor! You can rest assured I won't give in to them."

"What do you intend to do?"

"That's my secret."

"Take care you don't fall into a trap... Remember the distance is only six paces!"

"Doctor, I'll expect you tomorrow at four. The horses will be saddled. Goodbye!"

I sat at home until evening, locked up in my room. A footman came with an invitation from Princess Ligovskaya, but I said I was ill.

It is two o'clock in the morning, but I can't fall asleep. I know I should rest, so that my hand will be steady tomorrow. It'll be hard to miss at six paces though. Ah, Mr. Grushnitsky, your plots won't succeed! We will exchange roles, and now it'll be for me to look for signs of secret terror on your pale face. Why did you insist on these fatal six paces? You think that I'll submissively offer you my brow as a target... but we'll draw lots! And then... then... but what if fortune smiles on him? What if my star fails me at last? And little wonder if it did-it has faithfully served my caprices long enough: there is no more constancy in the heavens than on earth.

Ah, well! If I must die, I must! The world will lose little, and I am weary enough of it all. I am like a man who yawns at a ball and doesn't go home to sleep only because his carriage hasn't come. But now the carriage is here-goodbye!

I run through my past life in my mind and involuntarily ask myself: Why have I lived? For what purpose was I born? There must have been a purpose, and certainly fate must have something noble in store for me, for I am conscious of untapped powers within me... But I didn't figure out my destination. I allowed myself to be carried away by the temptation of vain and frivolous passions. I emerged from their crucible hard and cold like iron, but gone forever was the ardor of noble aspirations-life's finest flower. How often since then have I played the role of an ax in the hands of fate! Like an instrument of execution I have fallen upon the heads of the condemned, often without malice, always without regret... My love has never made anyone happy, for I have never sacrificed anything for those I loved; I have loved only for myself, for my own pleasure. I have striven only to satisfy a strange craving of the heart, greedily absorbing their emotions, their tenderness, their joys and sufferings-and have never been fully satisfied. I have been like the starving man who falls into a stupor from sheer exhaustion and dreams of luxurious foods and sparkling wines-exultingly he shovels in these ephemeral gifts of the imagination, and seems to feel better-but when he awakes the vision is gone... and redoubled hunger and despair remain!