."

"Why so?"

"Oh, in general, I fear her; that is, I would not want her to think ill
of me, as of others. Sometimes I feel disgusted. I think--wouldn't it
be a great idea to go out on such a spree that all my veins would start
tingling. And then I recall her and I do not venture. And so everything
else, I think of her, 'What if she finds it out?' and I am afraid to do
it."

"Yes," the girl drawled out thoughtfully, "that shows that you love her.
I would also be like this. If I loved, I would think of him--of what he
might say..."

"And everything about her is so peculiar," Foma related softly. "She
speaks in a way all her own. And, God! How beautiful she is! And then
she is so small, like a child."

"And what took place between you?" asked Lubov.

Foma moved his chair closer to her, and stooping, he lowered his voice
for some reason or other, and began to relate to her all that had taken
place between him and Medinskaya. He spoke, and as he recalled the words
he said to Medinskaya, the sentiments that called forth the words were
also awakened in him.

"I told her, 'Oh, you! why did you make sport of me?'" he said angrily
and with reproach.

And Luba, her cheeks aflame with animation, spurred him on, nodding her
head approvingly:

"That's it! That's good! Well, and she?"

"She was silent!" said Foma, sadly, with a shrug of the shoulders. "That
is, she said different things; but what's the use?"

He waved his hand and became silent. Luba, playing with her braid, was
also silent. The samovar had already become cold. And the dimness in the
room was growing thicker and thicker, outside the window it was heavy
with darkness, and the black branches of the linden-trees were shaking
pensively.

"You might light the lamp," Foma went on.

"How unhappy we both are," said Luba, with a sigh.

Foma did not like this.

"I am not unhappy," he objected in a firm voice. "I am simply--not yet
accustomed to life."

"He who knows not what he is going to do tomorrow, is unhappy," said
Luba, sadly. "I do not know it, neither do you. Whither go? Yet go we
must, Why is it that my heart is never at ease? Some kind of a longing
is always quivering within it."

"It is the same with me," said Foma. "I start to reflect, but on what?
I cannot make it clear to myself. There is also a painful gnawing in my
heart. Eh! But I must go up to the club."

"Don't go away," Luba entreated.

"I must. Somebody is waiting there for me.