s as it should
be. Everything is wrong. I see it. I understand it, yet I cannot say
that it is wrong, and why it is so."

"It is not so, not so," muttered Foma. "That's from your books. Yes.
Although I also feel that it's wrong. Perhaps that is because we are so
young and foolish."

"At first it seemed to me," said Lubov, not listening to him, "that
everything in the books was clear to me. But now--"

"Drop your books," suggested Foma, with contempt.

"Ah, don't say that! How can I drop them? You know how many different
ideas there are in the world! O Lord! They're such ideas that set your
head afire. According to a certain book everything that exists on earth
is rational."

"Everything?" asked Foma.

"Everything! While another book says the contrary is true."

"Wait! Now isn't this nonsense?"

"What were you discussing?" asked Mayakin, appearing at the door, in a
long frock-coat and with several medals on his collar and his breast.

"Just so," said Lubov, morosely.

"We spoke about books," added Foma.

"What kind of books?"

"The books she is reading. She read that everything on earth is
rational."

"Really!"

"Well, and I say it is a lie!"

"Yes." Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard and
winked his eyes a little.

"What kind of a book is it?" he asked his daughter, after a pause.

"A little yellow-covered book," said Lubov, unwillingly.

"Just put that book on my table. That is said not without
reflection--everything on earth is rational! See someone thought of it.
Yes. It is even very cleverly expressed. And were it not for the fools,
it might have been perfectly correct. But as fools are always in the
wrong place, it cannot be said that everything on earth is rational. And
yet, I'll look at the book. Maybe there is common sense in it. Goodbye,
Foma! Will you stay here, or do you want to drive with me?"

"I'll stay here a little longer."

"Very well."

Lubov and Foma again remained alone.

"What a man your father is," said Foma, nodding his head toward the
direction of his godfather.

"Well, what kind of a man do you think he is?"

"He retorts every call, and wants to cover everything with his words."

"Yes, he is clever. And yet he does not understand how painful my life
is," said Lubov, sadly.

"Neither do I understand it. You imagine too much."

"What do I imagine?" cried the girl, irritated.

"Why, all these are not your own ideas. They are someone else's.