ay gooseberry. What was it you asked for?"

"Mamma told me to get a lot of things, but I've forgotten. I want
some feather trimming too."

"What kind would you like?"

"The best, something fashionable."

"The most fashionable now are real bird feathers. If you want the
most fashionable colour, it's heliotrope or _kanak_--that is,
claret with a yellow shade in it. We have an immense choice. And
what all this affair is going to lead to, I really don't understand.
Here you are in love, and how is it to end?"

Patches of red come into Nikolay Timofeitch's face round his eyes.
He crushes the soft feather trimming in his hand and goes on
muttering:

"Do you imagine he'll marry you--is that it? You'd better drop
any such fancies. Students are forbidden to marry. And do you suppose
he comes to see you with honourable intentions? A likely idea! Why,
these fine students don't look on us as human beings . . . they
only go to see shopkeepers and dressmakers to laugh at their ignorance
and to drink. They're ashamed to drink at home and in good houses,
but with simple uneducated people like us they don't care what any
one thinks; they'd be ready to stand on their heads. Yes! Well,
which feather trimming will you take? And if he hangs about and
carries on with you, we know what he is after. . . . When he's a
doctor or a lawyer he'll remember you: 'Ah,' he'll say, 'I used to
have a pretty fair little thing! I wonder where she is now?' Even
now I bet you he boasts among his friends that he's got his eye on
a little dressmaker."

Polinka sits down and gazes pensively at the pile of white boxes.

"No, I won't take the feather trimming," she sighs. "Mamma had
better choose it for herself; I may get the wrong one. I want six
yards of fringe for an overcoat, at forty kopecks the yard. For the
same coat I want cocoa-nut buttons, perforated, so they can be sown
on firmly. . . ."

Nikolay Timofeitch wraps up the fringe and the buttons. She looks
at him guiltily and evidently expects him to go on talking, but he
remains sullenly silent while he tidies up the feather trimming.

"I mustn't forget some buttons for a dressing-gown . . ." she says
after an interval of silence, wiping her pale lips with a handkerchief.

"What kind?"

"It's for a shopkeeper's wife, so give me something rather striking."

"Yes, if it's for a shopkeeper's wife, you'd better have something
bright. Here are some buttons. A combination of colours--red,
blu