a great many opinions
in the world, and a good half of them are held by people who have
never been in trouble!

In spite of the late hour, summer visitors were still walking
outside. Sofya Petrovna put on a light cape, stood a little, thought
a little. . . . She still had resolution enough to say to her
sleeping husband:

"Are you asleep? I am going for a walk. . . . Will you come with
me?"

That was her last hope. Receiving no answer, she went out. . . .
It was fresh and windy. She was conscious neither of the wind nor
the darkness, but went on and on. . . . An overmastering force drove
her on, and it seemed as though, if she had stopped, it would have
pushed her in the back.

"Immoral creature!" she muttered mechanically. "Low wretch!"

She was breathless, hot with shame, did not feel her legs under
her, but what drove her on was stronger than shame, reason, or fear.

A TRIFLE FROM LIFE

A WELL-FED, red-cheeked young man called Nikolay Ilyitch Belyaev,
of thirty-two, who was an owner of house property in Petersburg,
and a devotee of the race-course, went one evening to see Olga
Ivanovna Irnin, with whom he was living, or, to use his own expression,
was dragging out a long, wearisome romance. And, indeed, the first
interesting and enthusiastic pages of this romance had long been
perused; now the pages dragged on, and still dragged on, without
presenting anything new or of interest.

Not finding Olga Ivanovna at home, my hero lay down on the lounge
chair and proceeded to wait for her in the drawing-room.

"Good-evening, Nikolay Ilyitch!" he heard a child's voice. "Mother
will be here directly. She has gone with Sonia to the dressmaker's."

Olga Ivanovna's son, Alyosha--a boy of eight who looked graceful
and very well cared for, who was dressed like a picture, in a black
velvet jacket and long black stockings--was lying on the sofa in
the same room. He was lying on a satin cushion and, evidently
imitating an acrobat he had lately seen at the circus, stuck up in
the air first one leg and then the other. When his elegant legs
were exhausted, he brought his arms into play or jumped up impulsively
and went on all fours, trying to stand with his legs in the air.
All this he was doing with the utmost gravity, gasping and groaning
painfully as though he regretted that God had given him such a
restless body.

"Ah, good-evening, my boy," said Belyaev. "It's you! I did not
notice you. Is your mother well?"

Al