go into the service, but became a house painter,
Anyuta Blagovo and I knew from the beginning that you were right,
but we were frightened to say so aloud. Tell me what force is it
that hinders us from saying what one thinks? Take Anyuta Blagovo
now, for instance. She loves you, she adores you, she knows you are
right, she loves me too, like a sister, and knows that I am right,
and I daresay in her soul envies me, but some force prevents her
from coming to see us, she shuns us, she is afraid."

My sister crossed her arms over her breast, and said passionately:

"How she loves you, if only you knew! She has confessed her love
to no one but me, and then very secretly in the dark. She led me
into a dark avenue in the garden, and began whispering how precious
you were to her. You will see, she'll never marry, because she loves
you. Are you sorry for her?"

"Yes."

"It's she who has sent the bread. She is absurd really, what is the
use of being so secret? I used to be absurd and foolish, but now I
have got away from that and am afraid of nobody. I think and say
aloud what I like, and am happy. When I lived at home I hadn't a
conception of happiness, and now I wouldn't change with a queen."

Dr. Blagovo arrived. He had taken his doctor's degree, and was now
staying in our town with his father; he was taking a rest, and said
that he would soon go back to Petersburg again. He wanted to study
anti-toxins against typhus, and, I believe, cholera; he wanted to
go abroad to perfect his training, and then to be appointed a
professor. He had already left the army service, and wore a roomy
serge reefer jacket, very full trousers, and magnificent neckties.
My sister was in ecstasies over his scarfpin, his studs, and the
red silk handkerchief which he wore, I suppose from foppishness,
sticking out of the breast pocket of his jacket. One day, having
nothing to do, she and I counted up all the suits we remembered him
wearing, and came to the conclusion that he had at least ten. It
was clear that he still loved my sister as before, but he never
once even in jest spoke of taking her with him to Petersburg or
abroad, and I could not picture to myself clearly what would become
of her if she remained alive and what would become of her child.
She did nothing but dream endlessly, and never thought seriously
of the future; she said he might go where he liked, and might abandon
her even, so long as he was happy himself; that what had been was