At X------, the two friends made the acquaintance of Madame Odintsov, a
wealthy widow, who lived alone in her large, well-ordered establishment,
with her one daughter, Katya Sergyevna.  Bazaroff was contemptuously
amused at the luxury and peace that pervaded the house.  The excellent
arrangements of the establishment he made a subject for laughter, but,
none the less, he gladly prolonged his stay for a fortnight.  The reason
was not far to seek.  In spite of his avowed disbelief in love and
romance, the gracious charm, the refined intelligence and the beauty of
Madame Odintsov had won his heart.  And Arkady, too, willingly accepted
his hostess’s urgent invitation that they should stay for as long as
they pleased, because of his passion for Katya.  Circumstances, however,
brought their visit to an abrupt conclusion.

One morning Madame Odintsov, when she was alone with Bazaroff, commented upon his reticence and constraint.  As she made this remark, Bazaroff got up and went to the window.

“And would you like to know the reason for this reticence?” he queried.  “Would you like to know what is passing within me?”

“Yes,” rejoined Madame Odintsov, with a sort of dread she did not at the time understand.

“And you will not be angry?”

“No.”

“No?” Bazaroff was standing with his back to her.  “Let me tell you, then, that I love you like a fool, like a madman....  There, you forced it out of me.”

He turned quickly, flung a searching look upon her, and, snatching both her hands, he drew her suddenly to his breast.

She did not at once free herself from his embrace, but an instant later she was in the seclusion of her own room, standing, her cheeks scarlet, meditating on what had occurred.

“I am to blame,” she decided, aloud, “that I could not have foreseen this....  No, no....  God knows what it would lead to; he couldn’t be played with.  Peace is, anyway, the best thing in the world.”

She had come to a definite decision before she saw Bazaroff again.  He found an opportunity of speaking to her alone and hoarsely apologised for what had taken place.

“I am sufficiently punished,” he said, without raising his eyes to hers.  “My position, you will certainly agree, is most foolish.  To-morrow I shall be gone.  There is no recalling the past, consequently I must go.  I can only conceive of one condition upon which I could remain; that condition will never be.  Excuse my impertinence, but you don’t love me and you never will love me, I suppose?”

Bazaroff’s eyes glittered for an instant under their dark brows.  Madame Odintsov did not answer him.  “I am afraid of this man,” flashed through her brain.

“Good-bye, then,” said Bazaroff, as though he guessed her thought, and he went back into the house.

II—­Bazaroff’s Home-Coming