eptions
and delusions in nature that serve a purpose."

He set to work, but lazy, intimate thoughts still strayed through
his mind for a good while. Overhead the scales could no longer be
heard, but the inhabitant of the second storey was still pacing
from one end of the room to another.

A CLASSICAL STUDENT

BEFORE setting off for his examination in Greek, Vanya kissed all
the holy images. His stomach felt as though it were upside down;
there was a chill at his heart, while the heart itself throbbed and
stood still with terror before the unknown. What would he get that
day? A three or a two? Six times he went to his mother for her
blessing, and, as he went out, asked his aunt to pray for him. On
the way to school he gave a beggar two kopecks, in the hope that
those two kopecks would atone for his ignorance, and that, please
God, he would not get the numerals with those awful forties and
eighties.

He came back from the high school late, between four and five. He
came in, and noiselessly lay down on his bed. His thin face was
pale. There were dark rings round his red eyes.

"Well, how did you get on? How were you marked?" asked his mother,
going to his bedside.

Vanya blinked, twisted his mouth, and burst into tears. His mother
turned pale, let her mouth fall open, and clasped her hands. The
breeches she was mending dropped out of her hands.

"What are you crying for? You've failed, then?" she asked.

"I am plucked. . . . I got a two."

"I knew it would be so! I had a presentiment of it," said his mother.
"Merciful God! How is it you have not passed? What is the reason
of it? What subject have you failed in?"

"In Greek. . . . Mother, I . . . They asked me the future of _phero_,
and I . . . instead of saying _oisomai_ said _opsomai_. Then . . .
then there isn't an accent, if the last syllable is long, and I
. . . I got flustered. . . . I forgot that the alpha was long in it
. . . . I went and put in the accent. Then Artaxerxov told me to give
the list of the enclitic particles. . . . I did, and I accidentally
mixed in a pronoun . . . and made a mistake . . . and so he gave
me a two. . . . I am a miserable person. . . . I was working all
night. . . I've been getting up at four o'clock all this
week . . . ."

"No, it's not you but I who am miserable, you wretched boy! It's I
that am miserable! You've worn me to a threadpaper, you Herod, you
torment, you bane of my life! I pay for you, you good-for-nothin