Silence, deep silence. She did not even stir.

"So it's better to die in a hospital, is it?"

"What's the difference… Anyway, who says I'm going to die?" she added irritably.

"If not now, then later?"

"Well, and later…"

"That's easy to say! You're young now, good-looking, fresh -so you're worth the price. But after a year of this life you won't be the same, you'll fade."

"In a year?"

"At any rate, in a year you'll be worth less," I went on, gloatingly. "So you'll go from here to somewhere lower, another house. A year later - to a third house, always lower and lower, and in about seven years you'll reach the Haymarket and the basement. That's still not so bad. Worse luck will be if on top of that some sickness comes along, say, some weakness of the chest… or you catch cold, or something. Sickness doesn't go away easily in such a life. Once it gets into you, it may not get out. And so you'll die."

"Well, so I'll die," she answered, very spitefully now, and stirred quickly.

"Still, it's a pity."

"For who?"

"A pity about life."

Silence.

"Did you have a fiance? Eh?"

"What's it to you!"

"But I'm not questioning you. It's nothing to me. Why get angry? Of course, you may have had your own troubles. What's that to me? It's just a pity."

"For who?" "For you.

"Don't bother…" she whispered, barely audibly, and stirred again.

This immediately fueled my anger even more. What! I was trying to be so gentle, and she…

"But what do you think? Is it a good path you're on, eh?"

"I don't think anything."

"And that's what's bad, that you don't think. Wake up while you have time. And you do have time. You're still young, good-looking; you could find love, marry, be happy…"

"Not all the married ones are happy," she snapped, in the same rude patter.

"Not all, of course - but even so it's much better than here. A whole lot better. And with love one can live even without happiness. Life is good even in sorrow, it's good to live in the world, no matter how. And what is there here except… stench. Phew!"

I turned to her with loathing; I was no longer reasoning coldly. I myself began to feel what I was saying, and became excited. I already thirsted to expound my cherished "little ideas," lived out in my corner. Something in me suddenly lit up, some goal "appeared."

"Never mind my being here, I'm no example for you. Maybe I'm even worse than you. Anyway, I was drunk when I stopped here," I still hastened to justify myself. "Besides, a man is no sort of example for a woman. It's a different thing; I may dirty and befoul myself, but all the same I'm nobody's slave; I'm here, then I'm gone, and that's all. I've shaken it off, and it's no longer me. But let's admit that you're a slave from the first beginning. Yes, a slave! You give up everything, all your will. Later you may want to break these chains, but no: they'll ensnare you more and more strongly. That's how this cursed chain is. I know it. I won't even speak about other things, you perhaps wouldn't understand me, but just tell me: no doubt you're already in debt to the madam? So, you see!" I added, though she did not answer me, but only listened silently, with her whole being; "there's a chain for you! Now you'll never get it paid off. That's how they do it. The same as selling your soul to the devil…

"… Besides, I… how do you know, maybe I'm just as unfortunate as you are, and so I get into the muck on purpose, from misery. People do drink from grief: well, so I'm here - from grief. Now tell me, where's the good in it: here you and I… came together… tonight, and we didn't say a word to each other all the while, and only afterwards you started peering at me like a wild thing, and I at you. Is that any way to love? Is that any way for two human beings to come together? It's simply an outrage, that's what!"

"Yes!" she agreed, abruptly and hastily. I was even surprised by the hastiness of this "yes." So perhaps the same thought was wandering through her mind as she was peering at me just now? So she, too, is already capable of certain thoughts?… "Devil take it, that's curious, it's - akin" I reflected, almost rubbing my hands. "No, how can I fail to get the better of such a young soul?…"

It was the game that fascinated me most of all.

She turned her head closer to me and, it seemed to me in the darkness, propped it with her hand. Perhaps she was peering at me. How sorry I was that I couldn't make out her eyes. I heard her deep breathing.

"Why did you come here?" I began, now with a sense of power. I just…

"And how good it would be to be living in your father's house! Warm, free; your own nest."

"And what if it's worse than that?"

A thought flashed in me: "I must find the right tone; sentimentality may not get me far."

However, it merely flashed. I swear she really did interest me. Besides, I was somehow unnerved and susceptible. And knavery goes so easily with feeling.

"Who can say!" I hastened to reply. "All sorts of things happen. Now, I'm sure someone wronged you, and it's rather they who are guilty before you than you before them. I know nothing of your story, but a girl of your sort certainly wouldn't come here of her own liking…"

"What sort of girl am I?" she whispered, barely audibly; but I heard it.

"Devil take it," I thought, "I'm flattering her. This is vile. Or maybe it's good…" She was silent.

"You see, Liza - I'll speak about myself! If I'd had a family in my childhood, I wouldn't be the same as I am now. I often think about it. No matter how bad things are in a family, still it's your father and mother, not enemies, not strangers. At least once a year they'll show love for you. Still you know you belong there. I grew up without a family: that must be why I turned out this way… unfeeling."

I bided my time again.

"Maybe she just doesn't understand," I thought, "and anyway it's ridiculous - this moralizing."

"If I were a father and had a daughter, I think I'd love my daughter more than my sons, really," I began obliquely, as if talking about something else, to divert her. I confess I was blushing.

"Why is that?" she asked.

Ah, so she's listening!

"I just would; I don't know, Liza. You see: I knew a father who was a stern, severe man, but he was forever on his knees before his daughter, kept kissing her hands and feet, couldn't have enough of admiring her, really. She'd be dancing at a party, and he'd stand for five hours in the same spot, unable to take his eyes off her. He was mad about her; I can understand that. She'd get tired at night and go to sleep, and he would wake up and start kissing her and making the sign of the cross over her while she slept. He himself went around in a greasy jacket, was niggardly with everybody, but for her he'd have spent his last kopeck, he kept giving her rich presents, and what a joy it was for him if she liked the present. A father always loves his daughters more than a mother does. It's a delight for some girls to live at home! And I don't think I'd even give my daughter in marriage."

"Why not?" she said, with a slight chuckle.

"I'd be jealous, by God. How could she kiss another man? Or love a stranger more than her father? It's even painful to imagine it. Of course, that's all nonsense; of course, everyone will finally see reason. But I think, before giving her away, I'd wear myself out just with worry: I'd reject one suitor after another. But in the end I'd marry her to the one she herself loved. To a father, the man his daughter falls in love with herself always seems the worst. That's how it is. Much harm is done in families because of it."