But already at the door he felt that he was sorry for her, and he glanced at her across his shoulder.

There, in the corner, she stood alone, her head bent, her hands hanging motionless.
Understanding that he could not leave her thus, he became confused, and said softly, but without repenting: "Perhaps I said something offensive--forgive me! For after all I love you," and he heaved a deep sigh.
The woman burst into soft, nervous laughter.
"No, you have not offended me.

God speed you." "Well, then goodbye!" repeated Foma in a still lower voice.
"Yes," replied the woman, also in a low voice.
Foma pushed aside the strings of beads with his hand; they swung back noisily and touched his cheeks.

He shuddered at this cold touch and went out, carrying away a heavy, perplexed feeling in his breast, with his heart beating as though a soft but strong net were cast over it.
It was night by this time; the moon was shining and the frost covered the puddles with coatings of dull silver.

Foma walked along the sidewalk, he broke these with his cane, and they cracked mournfully.