gs she was noiselessly passing hither and thither,
casting to him kind glances and smiles, while her admirers were fawning
upon her, and they all, like serpents, were cleverly gliding by the
various little tables, chairs, screens, flower-stands--a storehouse
full of beautiful and frail things, scattered about the room with a
carelessness equally dangerous to them and to Foma. But when he walked
there, the rugs did not drown his footsteps, and all these things caught
at his coat, trembled and fell. Beside the piano stood a sailor made of
bronze, whose hand was lifted, ready to throw the life-saving ring; on
this ring were ropes of wire, and these always pulled Foma by the hair.
All this provoked laughter among Sophya Pavlovna and her admirers, and
Foma suffered greatly, changing from heat to cold.

But he felt no less uncomfortable even when alone with her. Greeting him
with a kindly smile, she would take a seat beside him in one of the cosy
corners of her drawing-room and would usually start her conversation by
complaining to him of everybody:

"You wouldn't believe how glad I am to see you!" Bending like a cat,
she would gaze into his eyes with her dark glance, in which something
avidious would now flash up.

"I love to speak to you," she said, musically drawling her words. "I've
grown tired of all the rest of them. They're all so boring, ordinary
and worn-out, while you are fresh, sincere. You don't like those people
either, do you?"

"I can't bear them!" replied Foma, firmly.

"And me?" she asked softly.

Foma turned his eyes away from her and said, with a sigh:

"How many times have you asked me that?"

"Is it hard for you to tell me?"

"It isn't hard, but what for?"

"I must know it."

"You are making sport of me," said Foma, sternly. And she opened her
eyes wide and inquired in a tone of great astonishment:

"How do I make sport of you? What does it mean to make sport?"

And her face looked so angelic that he could not help believing her.

"I love you! I love you! It is impossible not to love you!" said he
hotly, and immediately added sadly, lowering his voice: "But you don't
need it!"

"There you have it!" sighed Medinskaya, satisfied, drawing back from
him. "I am always extremely pleased to hear you say this, with so much
youthfulness and originality. Would you like to kiss my hand?"

Without saying a word he seized her thin, white little hand and
carefully bending down to it, he passionately