th myself--satisfaction at having been able to be carried away
by my feelings and having fallen in love, and at the same time I
felt uncomfortable at the thought that only a few steps away from
me, in one of the rooms of that house there was Lida, who disliked
and perhaps hated me. I went on sitting there wondering whether
Genya would come out; I listened and fancied I heard voices talking
upstairs.

About an hour passed. The green light went out, and the shadows
were no longer visible. The moon was standing high above the house,
and lighting up the sleeping garden and the paths; the dahlias and
the roses in front of the house could be seen distinctly, and looked
all the same colour. It began to grow very cold. I went out of the
garden, picked up my coat on the road, and slowly sauntered home.

When next day after dinner I went to the Voltchaninovs, the glass
door into the garden was wide open. I sat down on the terrace,
expecting Genya every minute, to appear from behind the flower-beds
on the lawn, or from one of the avenues, or that I should hear her
voice from the house. Then I walked into the drawing-room, the
dining-room. There was not a soul to be seen. From the dining-room
I walked along the long corridor to the hall and back. In this
corridor there were several doors, and through one of them I heard
the voice of Lida:

"'God . . . sent . . . a crow,'" she said in a loud, emphatic
voice, probably dictating--"'God sent a crow a piece of cheese
. . . . A crow . . . a piece of cheese.' . . . Who's there?" she
called suddenly, hearing my steps.

"It's I."

"Ah! Excuse me, I cannot come out to you this minute; I'm giving
Dasha her lesson."

"Is Ekaterina Pavlovna in the garden?"

"No, she went away with my sister this morning to our aunt in the
province of Penza. And in the winter they will probably go abroad,"
she added after a pause. "'God sent . . . the crow . . . a piece
. . . of cheese.' . . . Have you written it?"

I went into the hall, and stared vacantly at the pond and the
village, and the sound reached me of "A piece of cheese. . . . God
sent the crow a piece of cheese."

And I went back by the way I had come here for the first time--
first from the yard into the garden past the house, then into the
avenue of lime-trees. . . . At this point I was overtaken by a small
boy who gave me a note:

"I told my sister everything and she insists on my parting from
you," I read. "I could not wound her b