ence. At
eight o'clock in the morning he drank tea, read the newspapers, and
recounted the news to the mother. He repeated the speeches of the
merchants in the Douma without malice, and clearly depicted the life in
the city.

Listening to him the mother saw with transparent dearness the mechanism
of this life pitilessly grinding the people in the millstones of money.
At nine o'clock he went off to the office.

She tidied the rooms, prepared dinner, washed herself, put on a clean
dress, and then sat in her room to examine the pictures and the books.
She had already learned to read, but the effort of reading quickly
exhausted her; and she ceased to understand the meaning of the words.
But the pictures were a constant astonishment to her. They opened up
before her a clear, almost tangible world of new and marvelous things.
Huge cities arose before her, beautiful structures, machines, ships,
monuments, and infinite wealth, created by the people, overwhelming the
mind by the variety of nature's products. Life widened endlessly; each
day brought some new, huge wonders. The awakened hungry soul of the
woman was more and more strongly aroused to the multitude of riches in
the world, its countless beauties. She especially loved to look
through the great folios of the zoological atlas, and although the text
was written in a foreign language, it gave her the clearest conception
of the beauty, wealth, and vastness of the earth.

"It's an immense world," she said to Nikolay at dinner.

"Yes, and yet the people are crowded for space."

The insects, particularly the butterflies, astonished her most.

"What beauty, Nikolay Ivanovich," she observed. "And how much of this
fascinating beauty there is everywhere, but all covered up from us; it
all flies by without our seeing it. People toss about, they know
nothing, they are unable to take delight in anything, they have no
inclination for it. How many could take happiness to themselves if
they knew how rich the earth is, how many wonderful things live in it!"

Nikolay listened to her raptures, smiled, and brought her new
illustrated books.

In the evening visitors often gathered in his house--Alexey
Vasilyevich, a handsome man, pale-faced, black-bearded, sedate, and
taciturn; Roman Petrovich, a pimply, round-headed individual always
smacking his lips regretfully; Ivan Danilovich, a short, lean fellow
with a pointed beard and thin hair, impetuous, vociferous, and sharp as