Platonov burst into loud laughter.  But seeing the naive and sad face of Lichonin, who did not seem to understand, nor even suspect mockery, he restrained his laughter and said seriously: 

“You won’t accomplish anything, Lichonin.  While there will be property, there will also be poverty.  While marriage exists, prostitution also will not die.  Do you know who will always sustain and nourish prostitution?  It is the so-called decent people, the noble paterfamiliases, the irreproachable husbands, the loving brothers.  They will always find a seemly motive to legitimize, normalize and put a wrapper all around paid libertinage, because they know very well that otherwise it would rush in a torrent into their bedrooms and nurseries.  Prostitution is for them a deflection of the sensuousness of others from their personal, lawful alcove.  And even the respectable paterfamilias himself is not averse to indulge in a love debauch in secret.  And really, it is palling to have always the one and the same thing the wife, the chambermaid, and the lady on the side.  Man, as a matter of fact, is a poly—­and exceedingly so—­a polygamous animal.  And to his rooster-like amatory instincts it will always be sweet to unfold in such a magnificent nursery garden, A la Treppel’s or Anna Markovna’s.  Oh, of course, a well-balanced spouse or the happy father of six grown-up daughters will always be clamouring about the horror of prostitution.  He will even arrange with the help of a lottery and an amateur entertainment a society for the saving of fallen women, or an asylum in the name of St. Magdalene.  But the existence of prostitution he will bless and sustain.”

“Magdalene asylums!” with quiet laughter, full of an ancient hatred the ache of which had not yet healed, repeated Jennie.

“Yes, I know that all these false measures undertaken are stuff and a total mockery,” cut in Lichonin.  “But let me be ridiculous and stupid, yet I do not wish to remain a commiserating spectator, who sits on a warm ledge, gazes upon a conflagration, and is saying all the time:  ’Oh, my, but it’s burning ... by God, it is burning!  Perhaps there are even people burning!’—­but for his part merely laments and slaps his thighs.”

“Well, now,” said Platonov harshly, “would you take a child’s syringe and go to put out the fire with it?”

“No!” heatedly exclaimed Lichonin ...  “Perhaps—­who knows?—­ perhaps I’ll succeed in saving at least one living soul?  It was just this that I wanted to ask you about, Platonov, and you must help me ...  Only, I implore you, without jeers, without cooling off ...”

“You want to take a girl out of here?  To save her?” asked Platonov, looking at him attentively.  He now understood the drift of this entire conversation.

“Yes ...  I don’t know ...  I’ll try ...” answered Lichonin uncertainly.

“She’ll come back,” said Platonov.

“She will,” Jennie repeated with conviction.