pany, old and young, sat down to play
"fate." They took two packs of cards: one pack was dealt round to
the company, the other was laid on the table face downwards.

"The one who has this card in his hand," old Shelestov began solemnly,
lifting the top card of the second pack, "is fated to go into the
nursery and kiss nurse."

The pleasure of kissing the nurse fell to the lot of Shebaldin.
They all crowded round him, took him to the nursery, and laughing
and clapping their hands, made him kiss the nurse. There was a great
uproar and shouting.

"Not so ardently!" cried Shelestov with tears of laughter. "Not so
ardently!"

It was Nikitin's "fate" to hear the confessions of all. He sat on
a chair in the middle of the drawing-room. A shawl was brought and
put over his head. The first who came to confess to him was Varya.

"I know your sins," Nikitin began, looking in the darkness at her
stern profile. "Tell me, madam, how do you explain your walking
with Polyansky every day? Oh, it's not for nothing she walks with
an hussar!"

"That's poor," said Varya, and walked away.

Then under the shawl he saw the shine of big motionless eyes, caught
the lines of a dear profile in the dark, together with a familiar,
precious fragrance which reminded Nikitin of Masha's room.

"Marie Godefroi," he said, and did not know his own voice, it was
so soft and tender, "what are your sins?"

Masha screwed up her eyes and put out the tip of her tongue at him,
then she laughed and went away. And a minute later she was standing
in the middle of the room, clapping her hands and crying:

"Supper, supper, supper!"

And they all streamed into the dining-room. At supper Varya had
another argument, and this time with her father. Polyansky ate
stolidly, drank red wine, and described to Nikitin how once in a
winter campaign he had stood all night up to his knees in a bog;
the enemy was so near that they were not allowed to speak or smoke,
the night was cold and dark, a piercing wind was blowing. Nikitin
listened and stole side-glances at Masha. She was gazing at him
immovably, without blinking, as though she was pondering something
or was lost in a reverie. . . . It was pleasure and agony to him
both at once.

"Why does she look at me like that?" was the question that fretted
him. "It's awkward. People may notice it. Oh, how young, how naive
she is!"

The party broke up at midnight. When Nikitin went out at the gate,
a window opened on t