r to literature--
that is, of course . . . I will not venture to call myself an
authoress, but . . . still I have added my little quota . . . I
have published at different times three stories for children. . . .
You have not read them, of course. . . . I have translated a good
deal and . . . and my late brother used to write for _The Cause_."

"To be sure . . . er--er--er----What can I do for you?"

"You see . . . (the lady cast down her eyes and turned redder) I
know your talents . . . your views, Pavel Vassilyevitch, and I have
been longing to learn your opinion, or more exactly . . . to ask
your advice. I must tell you I have perpetrated a play, my first-born
--_pardon pour l'expression!_--and before sending it to the
Censor I should like above all things to have your opinion on it."

Nervously, with the flutter of a captured bird, the lady fumbled
in her skirt and drew out a fat manuscript.

Pavel Vassilyevitch liked no articles but his own. When threatened
with the necessity of reading other people's, or listening to them,
he felt as though he were facing the cannon's mouth. Seeing the
manuscript he took fright and hastened to say:

"Very good, . . . leave it, . . . I'll read it."

"Pavel Vassilyevitch," the lady said languishingly, clasping her
hands and raising them in supplication, "I know you're busy. . . .
Your every minute is precious, and I know you're inwardly cursing
me at this moment, but . . . Be kind, allow me to read you my play
. . . . Do be so very sweet!"

"I should be delighted . . ." faltered Pavel Vassilyevitch; "but,
Madam, I'm . . . I'm very busy . . . . I'm . . . I'm obliged to set
off this minute."

"Pavel Vassilyevitch," moaned the lady and her eyes filled with
tears, "I'm asking a sacrifice! I am insolent, I am intrusive, but
be magnanimous. To-morrow I'm leaving for Kazan and I should like
to know your opinion to-day. Grant me half an hour of your attention
. . . only one half-hour . . . I implore you!"

Pavel Vassilyevitch was cotton-wool at core, and could not refuse.
When it seemed to him that the lady was about to burst into sobs
and fall on her knees, he was overcome with confusion and muttered
helplessly.

"Very well; certainly . . . I will listen . . . I will give you
half an hour."

The lady uttered a shriek of joy, took off her hat and settling
herself, began to read. At first she read a scene in which a footman
and a house maid, tidying up a sumptuous drawing-room,