what I’m telling you all this for…. There’s no changing one’s destiny…’

‘How can one know?…’

‘I know!’ responded Avdey gloomily. ‘I am used to facing its blows!’

It struck Masha that this was not exactly the befitting moment for Lutchkov to rail against destiny.

‘There are kind-hearted people in the world,’ she observed with a smile; ‘some even too kind….’

‘I understand you, Marya Sergievna, and believe me, I appreciate your friendliness… I… I… You won’t be angry?’

‘No…. What do you want to say?’

‘I want to say… that I think you charming… Marya Sergievna, awfully charming….’

‘I am very grateful to you,’ Masha interrupted him; her heart was aching with anticipation and terror. ‘Ah, do look, Mr. Lutchkov,’ she went on—’look, what a view!’

She pointed to the meadow, streaked with long, evening shadows, and flushed red with the sunset.

Inwardly overjoyed at the abrupt change in the conversation, Lutchkov began admiring the view. He was standing near Masha….

‘You love nature?’ she asked suddenly, with a rapid turn of her little head, looking at him with that friendly, inquisitive, soft glance, which is a gift only vouchsafed to young girls.

‘Yes… nature… of course…’ muttered Avdey. ‘Of course… a stroll’s pleasant in the evening, though, I confess, I’m a soldier, and fine sentiments are not in my line.’

Lutchkov often repeated that he ‘was a soldier.’ A brief silence followed. Masha was still looking at the meadow.

‘How about getting away?’ thought Avdey. ‘What rot it is, though! Come, more pluck!… Marya Sergievna…’ he began, in a fairly resolute voice.

Masha turned to him.

‘Excuse me,’ he began, as though in joke, ‘but let me on my side know what you think of me, whether you feel at all… so to say,… amiably disposed towards my person?’

‘Mercy on us, how uncouth he is!’ Masha said to herself. ‘Do you know, Mr. Lutchkov,’ she answered him with a smile, ‘it’s not always easy to give a direct answer to a direct question.’

‘Still…’

‘But what is it to you?’

‘Oh, really now, I want to know…’

‘But… Is it true that you are a great duellist? Tell me, is it true?’ said Masha, with shy curiosity. ‘They do say you have killed more than one man?’

‘It has happened so,’ Avdey responded indifferently, and he stroked his moustaches.

Masha looked intently at him.

‘This hand then…’ she murmured. Meanwhile Lutchkov’s blood had caught fire. For more than a quarter of an hour a young and pretty girl had been moving before his eyes.

‘Marya Sergievna,’ he began again, in a sharp and strange voice, ‘you know my feelings now, you know what I wanted to see you for…. You’ve been so kind…. You tell me, too, at last what I may hope for….’

Masha twisted a wildflower in her hands…. She glanced sideways at Lutchkov, flushed, smiled, said,’ What nonsense you do talk,’ and gave him the flower.

Avdey seized her hand.

‘And so you love me!’ he cried.

Masha turned cold all over with horror. She had not had the slightest idea of making a declaration of love to Avdey: she was not even sure herself as yet whether she did care for him, and here he was forestalling her, forcing her to speak out—he must be misunderstanding her then…. This idea flashed quicker than lightning into Masha’s head. She had never expected such a speedy dénouement…. Masha, like an inquisitive child, had been asking herself all day: ‘Can it be that Lutchkov cares for me?’ She had dreamed of a delightful evening walk, a respectful and tender dialogue; she had fancied how she would flirt with him, make the wild creature feel at home with her, permit him at parting to kiss her hand… and instead of that…

Instead of that, she was suddenly aware of Avdey’s rough moustaches on her cheek….

‘Let us be happy,’ he was whispering: ‘there’s no other happiness on earth!’

Masha shuddered, darted horror-stricken on one side, and pale all over, stopped short, one hand leaning on a birch-tree. Avdey was terribly confused.

‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, approaching her, ‘I didn’t expect really…’

Masha gazed at him, wide-eyed and speechless… A disagreeable smile twisted his lips… patches of red came out on his face….

‘What are you afraid of?’ he went on; ‘it’s no such great matter…. Why, we understand each other… and so….’

Masha did not speak.

‘Come, stop that!… that’s all nonsense! it’s nothing but…’ Lutchkov stretched out his hand to her.

Masha recollected Kister, his ‘take care of yourself,’ and, sinking with terror, in a rather shrill voice screamed, ‘Taniusha!’

From behind a nutbush emerged the round face of her maid…. Avdey was completely disconcerted. Reassured by the presence of her hand-maiden, Masha did not stir. But the bully was shaking all over with rage; his eyes were half closed; he clenched his fists and laughed nervously.

‘Bravo! bravo! Clever trick—no denying that!’ he cried out.

Masha was petrified.

‘So you took every care, I see, to be on the safe side, Marya Sergievna! Prudence is never thrown away, eh? Upon my word! Nowadays young ladies see further than old men. So this is all your love amounts to!’

‘I don’t know, Mr. Lutchkov, who has given you any right to speak about love… what love?’

‘Who? Why, you yourself!’ Lutchkov cut her short: ‘what next!’ He felt he was ship-wrecking the whole business, but he could not restrain himself.

‘I have acted thoughtlessly,’ said Masha…. ‘I yielded to your request, relying upon your délicatesse… but you don’t know French… on your courtesy, I mean….’

Avdey turned pale. Masha had stung him to the quick.

‘I don’t know French… may be; but I know… I know very well that you have been amusing yourself at my expense.’

‘Not at all, Avdey Ivanovitch… indeed, I’m very sorry…’

‘Oh, please, don’t talk about being sorry for me,’ Avdey cut her short peremptorily; ‘spare me that, anyway!’

‘Mr. Lutchkov…’

‘Oh, you needn’t put on those grand-duchess airs… It’s trouble thrown away! you don’t impress me.’

Masha stepped back a pace, turned swiftly round and walked away.

‘Won’t you give me a message for your friend, your shepherd lad, your tender sweet-heart, Kister,’ Avdey shouted after her. He had lost his head. ‘Isn’t he the happy man?’…

Masha made him no reply, and hurriedly, gladly retreated. She felt light at heart, in spite of her fright and excitement. She felt as though she had waked up from a troubled sleep, had stepped out of a dark room into air and sunshine…. Avdey glared about him like a madman; in speechless frenzy he broke a young tree, jumped on to his mare, and so viciously drove the spurs into her, so mercilessly pulled and tugged at the reins that the wretched beast galloped six miles in a quarter of an hour and almost expired the same night.

Kister waited for Lutchkov in vain till midnight, and next morning he went round himself to see him. The orderly informed Fyodor Fedoritch that his master was lying down and had given orders that he would see no one. ‘He won’t see me even?’. ‘Not even your honour.’ Kister walked twice up and down the street, tortured by the keenest apprehensions, and then went home again. His servant handed him a note.

‘From whom?’

‘From the Perekatovs. Artiomka the postillion brought it.’

Kister’s hands began to tremble.

‘He had orders to give you their greetings. He had orders to wait for your answer. Am I to give Artiomka some vodka?’

Kister slowly unfolded the note, and read as follows:

‘DEAR GOOD FYODOR FEDORITCH,—I want very, very much to see you. Come to-day, if you can. Don’t refuse my request, I entreat you, for the sake of our old friendship. If only you knew… but you shall know everything. Good-bye for a little while,—eh?

MARIE.

‘P.S.—Be sure to come to-morrow.’

‘So your honour, am I to give Artiomka some vodka?’

Kister turned a long, bewildered stare at his servant’s countenance, and went out without uttering a word.

‘The master has told me to get you some vodka, and to have a drink with you,’ said Kister’s servant to Artiomka the postillion.

IX

Masha came with such a bright and grateful face to meet Kister, when he came into the drawing-room, she pressed his hand so warmly and affectionately, that his heart throbbed with delight, and a weight seemed rolled from his mind. Masha did not, however, say a single word, and she promptly left the room. Sergei Sergeitch was sitting on the sofa, playing patience. Conversation sprang up. Sergei Sergeitch had not yet succeeded with his usual skill in bringing the conversation round from all extraneous topics to his dog, when Masha reappeared, wearing a plaid silk sash, Kister’s favourite sash. Nenila Makarievna came in and gave Fyodor Fedoritch a friendly greeting. At dinner they were all laughing and making jokes; even Sergei Sergeitch plucked up spirit and described one of the merriest pranks of his youthful days, hiding his head from his wife like an ostrich, as he told the story.

‘Let us go for a walk, Fyodor Fedoritch,’ Masha said to Kister after dinner with that note of affectionate authority in her voice which is, as it were, conscious that you will gladly submit to it. ‘I want to talk to you about something very, very important,’ she added with enchanting solemnity, as she put on her suede gloves. ‘Are you coming with us, maman?’

‘No,’ answered Nenila Makarievna.

‘But we are not going into the garden.’

‘Where then?’

‘To Long Meadow, to the copse.’

‘Take Taniusha with you.’

‘Taniusha, Taniusha!’ Masha cried musically, flitting lightly as a bird from the room.

A quarter of an hour later Masha walked with Kister into the Long Meadow. As she passed the cattle, she gave a piece of bread to her favourite cow, patted it on the head and made Kister stroke it. Masha was in great good humour and chatted