On the Eve

d quietly slipped away. Anna Vassilyevna was lying down upstairs with a wet bandage on her head. Zoya was sitting by her, the folds of her skirt arranged precisely about her, and her little hands

say a few wor

ance in the least. The old man (he was almost fifty, he had married late in life) surmised at last that things were not going quite right, and he placed his Andrei in a school. Andrei began to learn, but he was not removed from his father's supervision; his father visited him unceasingly, wearying the schoolmaster to death with his instructions and conversation; the teachers, too, were bored by his uninvited visits; he was for ever bringing them some, as they said, far-fetched books on education. Even the schoolboys were embarrassed at the sight of the old man's swarthy, pockmarked face, his lank figure, invariably clothed in a sort of scanty grey dresscoat. The boys did not suspect then that this grim, unsmiling old gentleman, with his crane-like gait and his long nose, was at heart troubling and yearning over each one of them almost as over his own son. He once conceived the idea of ta

rrassment he had felt in her presence disappeared, and his lis

, 'were there any remarkab

gain reminded o

d, where are such to be found! There was, they say, a good time once in the Moscow university! But not n

y,' murmu

ception. I know one student-it's true he is not in

e?' Elena inquir

Nikanorovitch. H

a Rus

is not a

living in M

is now a small town, but it was the capital of Bulgaria in the old days when Bulgaria was still an independent state. He traded with Sophia, and had relations with Russia; his sister, Insarov's aunt, is still living in Kiev, married

ered. Berse

go on,'

ga; her husband, Insarov's father, found out the truth, tried to avenge he

d without

d of the fate of her brother's family, and wanted to take the nephew to live with her. They got him to Odes

eaks R

The Turkish Government persecuted him, and he was certainly exposed to great dangers during those two years; I once caught sight of a broad scar on his neck, from a wound, no doubt; but he does not like to talk about it. He is reserved, too, in his own way. I have tried to question

n?' broke

It's hard to fore

did not take her e

e told me,' she said. 'What is he like, this fr

d, he's good-looking. But yo

w s

to our little village the day after tomorrow, an

ll he care to c

k so. He will

't prou

u like, only not in the sense you mean. He will

he p

ected some relics left of his father's property, and

at deal of characte

his concentration and even his reserve. It's true, his frankness is not our poor sort of frankness-the frankne

e shy?' aske

It's only vain pe

are yo

d made a vague ges

Elena. 'But tell me, has he not t

nyev

, Elena Nikolaevna; and, besides, in t

r said anything, thou

nev

he go t

r used to

rew tho

said. 'It is terrible even to utt

yevna came into the room, a

t of the young Bulgarian very natural... had he not himself tried to deepen that impression! But a vague, unfathomable emotion lurked secretly in his heart; he was sad with a sadness that had nothing