maintained
a shy silence.

I painted the scenes at the Azhogins' either in the barn or in the
yard. I was assisted by Andrey Ivanov, a house painter, or, as he
called himself, a contractor for all kinds of house decorations, a
tall, very thin, pale man of fifty, with a hollow chest, with sunken
temples, with blue rings round his eyes, rather terrible to look
at in fact. He was afflicted with some internal malady, and every
autumn and spring people said that he wouldn't recover, but after
being laid up for a while he would get up and say afterwards with
surprise: "I have escaped dying again."

In the town he was called Radish, and they declared that this was
his real name. He was as fond of the theatre as I was, and as soon
as rumours reached him that a performance was being got up he threw
aside all his work and went to the Azhogins' to paint scenes.

The day after my talk with my sister, I was working at the Azhogins'
from morning till night. The rehearsal was fixed for seven o'clock
in the evening, and an hour before it began all the amateurs were
gathered together in the hall, and the eldest, the middle, and the
youngest Azhogins were pacing about the stage, reading from manuscript
books. Radish, in a long rusty-red overcoat and a scarf muffled
round his neck, already stood leaning with his head against the
wall, gazing with a devout expression at the stage. Madame Azhogin
went up first to one and then to another guest, saying something
agreeable to each. She had a way of gazing into one's face, and
speaking softly as though telling a secret.

"It must be difficult to paint scenery," she said softly, coming
up to me. "I was just talking to Madame Mufke about superstitions
when I saw you come in. My goodness, my whole life I have been
waging war against superstitions! To convince the servants what
nonsense all their terrors are, I always light three candles, and
begin all my important undertakings on the thirteenth of the month."

Dolzhikov's daughter came in, a plump, fair beauty, dressed, as
people said, in everything from Paris. She did not act, but a chair
was set for her on the stage at the rehearsals, and the performances
never began till she had appeared in the front row, dazzling and
astounding everyone with her fine clothes. As a product of the
capital she was allowed to make remarks during the rehearsals; and
she did so with a sweet indulgent smile, and one could see that she
looked upon our performan