cription. From the first he put himself
on an equality with his new friends, and though he sometimes read
newspapers and books to the mistress of the house, it was simply because
he liked to be useful.

One day, however, he and Lizabetha Prokofievna quarrelled seriously
about the "woman question," in the course of a lively discussion on that
burning subject. He told her that she was a tyrant, and that he would
never set foot in her house again. It may seem incredible, but a day
or two after, Madame Epanchin sent a servant with a note begging him to
return, and Colia, without standing on his dignity, did so at once.

Aglaya was the only one of the family whose good graces he could not
gain, and who always spoke to him haughtily, but it so happened that the
boy one day succeeded in giving the proud maiden a surprise.

It was about Easter, when, taking advantage of a momentary tete-a-tete
Colia handed Aglaya a letter, remarking that he "had orders to deliver
it to her privately." She stared at him in amazement, but he did not
wait to hear what she had to say, and went out. Aglaya broke the seal,
and read as follows:

"Once you did me the honour of giving me your confidence. Perhaps you
have quite forgotten me now! How is it that I am writing to you? I do
not know; but I am conscious of an irresistible desire to remind you of
my existence, especially you. How many times I have needed all three of
you; but only you have dwelt always in my mind's eye. I need you--I need
you very much. I will not write about myself. I have nothing to tell
you. But I long for you to be happy. ARE you happy? That is all I wished
to say to you--Your brother,

"PR. L. MUISHKIN."

On reading this short and disconnected note, Aglaya suddenly blushed all
over, and became very thoughtful.

It would be difficult to describe her thoughts at that moment. One of
them was, "Shall I show it to anyone?" But she was ashamed to show it.
So she ended by hiding it in her table drawer, with a very strange,
ironical smile upon her lips.

Next day, she took it out, and put it into a large book, as she usually
did with papers which she wanted to be able to find easily. She laughed
when, about a week later, she happened to notice the name of the book,
and saw that it was Don Quixote, but it would be difficult to say
exactly why.

I cannot say, either, whether she showed the letter to her sisters.

But when she had read it herself once more, it suddenly st