For a second or two they stood staring at each other. “How did you come here?” Marija exclaimed.

“I came to see you,” he answered.

“When?”

“Just now.”

“But how did you know—who told you I was here?”

“Alena Jasaityte. I met her on the street.”

Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other. The rest of the crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up and came closer to him. “And you?” Jurgis asked. “You live here?”

“Yes,” said Marija, “I live here.” Then suddenly came a hail from below: “Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along. You’d best begin, or you’ll be sorry—it’s raining outside.”

“Br-r-r!” shivered some one, and the women got up and entered the various doors which lined the hallway.

“Come,” said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was a tiny place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and a dressing stand and some dresses hanging behind the door. There were clothes scattered about on the floor, and hopeless confusion everywhere—boxes of rouge and bottles of perfume mixed with hats and soiled dishes on the dresser, and a pair of slippers and a clock and a whisky bottle on a chair.

Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings; yet she proceeded to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking the trouble to close the door. He had by this time divined what sort of a place he was in; and he had seen a great deal of the world since he had left home, and was not easy to shock—and yet it gave him a painful start that Marija should do this. They had always been decent people at home, and it seemed to him that the memory of old times ought to have ruled her. But then he laughed at himself for a fool. What was he, to be pretending to decency!

“How long have you been living here?” he asked.

“Nearly a year,” she answered.

“Why did you come?”

“I had to live,” she said; “and I couldn’t see the children starve.” He paused for a moment, watching her. “You were out of work?” he asked, finally.

“I got sick,” she replied. “and after that I had no money. And then Stanislovas died—”

“Stanislovas dead!”

“Yes,” said Marija, “I forgot. You didn’t know about it.”

“How did he die?”

“Rats killed him,” she answered.

Jurgis gave a gasp. “Rats killed him!”