else
can you expect of Granny? But your mother speaks French, you know,
and acts in private theatricals. One would think she might understand."

As Sasha talked, he used to stretch out two long wasted fingers
before the listener's face.

"It all seems somehow strange to me here, now I am out of the habit
of it," he went on. "There is no making it out. Nobody ever does
anything. Your mother spends the whole day walking about like a
duchess, Granny does nothing either, nor you either. And your Andrey
Andreitch never does anything either."

Nadya had heard this the year before and, she fancied, the year
before that too, and she knew that Sasha could not make any other
criticism, and in old days this had amused her, but now for some
reason she felt annoyed.

"That's all stale, and I have been sick of it for ages," she said
and got up. "You should think of something a little newer."

He laughed and got up too, and they went together toward the house.
She, tall, handsome, and well-made, beside him looked very healthy
and smartly dressed; she was conscious of this and felt sorry for
him and for some reason awkward.

"And you say a great deal you should not," she said. "You've just
been talking about my Andrey, but you see you don't know him."

"My Andrey. . . . Bother him, your Andrey. I am sorry for your
youth."

They were already sitting down to supper as the young people went
into the dining-room. The grandmother, or Granny as she was called
in the household, a very stout, plain old lady with bushy eyebrows
and a little moustache, was talking loudly, and from her voice and
manner of speaking it could be seen that she was the person of most
importance in the house. She owned rows of shops in the market, and
the old-fashioned house with columns and the garden, yet she prayed
every morning that God might save her from ruin and shed tears as
she did so. Her daughter-in-law, Nadya's mother, Nina Ivanovna, a
fair-haired woman tightly laced in, with a pince-nez, and diamonds
on every finger, Father Andrey, a lean, toothless old man whose
face always looked as though he were just going to say something
amusing, and his son, Andrey Andreitch, a stout and handsome young
man with curly hair looking like an artist or an actor, were all
talking of hypnotism.

"You will get well in a week here," said Granny, addressing Sasha.
"Only you must eat more. What do you look like!" she sighed. "You
are really dreadful! You are a reg