as distasteful. That was why he so rarely saw Yulia. He
reflected now that the father was not at home, that if he were to
take Yulia Sergeyevna her parasol, he would be sure to find her at
home alone, and his heart ached with joy. Haste, haste!

He took the parasol and, violently agitated, flew on the wings of
love. It was hot in the street. In the big courtyard of the doctor's
house, overgrown with coarse grass and nettles, some twenty urchins
were playing ball. These were all the children of working-class
families who tenanted the three disreputable-looking lodges, which
the doctor was always meaning to have done up, though he put it off
from year to year. The yard resounded with ringing, healthy voices.
At some distance on one side, Yulia Sergeyevna was standing at her
porch, her hands folded, watching the game.

"Good-morning!" Laptev called to her.

She looked round. Usually he saw her indifferent, cold, or tired
as she had been the evening before. Now her face looked full of
life and frolic, like the faces of the boys who were playing ball.

"Look, they never play so merrily in Moscow," she said, going to
meet him. "There are no such big yards there, though; they've no
place to run there. Papa has only just gone to you," she added,
looking round at the children.

"I know; but I've not come to see him, but to see you," said Laptev,
admiring her youthfulness, which he had not noticed till then, and
seemed only that day to have discovered in her; it seemed to him
as though he were seeing her slender white neck with the gold chain
for the first time. "I've come to see you . . ." he repeated. "My
sister has sent you your parasol; you forgot it yesterday."

She put out her hand to take the parasol, but he pressed it to his
bosom and spoke passionately, without restraint, yielding again to
the sweet ecstasy he had felt the night before, sitting under the
parasol.

"I entreat you, give it me. I shall keep it in memory of you . . .
of our acquaintance. It's so wonderful!"

"Take it," she said, and blushed; "but there's nothing wonderful
about it."

He looked at her in ecstasy, in silence, not knowing what to say.

"Why am I keeping you here in the heat?" she said after a brief
pause, laughing. "Let us go indoors."

"I am not disturbing you?"

They went into the hall. Yulia Sergeyevna ran upstairs, her white
dress with blue flowers on it rustling as she went.

"I can't be disturbed," she answered, stopping