ame opinions as he
about everything. It was plain that she could not exist a single year
without an attachment, and she found her new happiness in the wing of
her house. In any one else this would have been condemned; but no one
could think ill of Olenka. Everything in her life was so transparent.
She and the veterinary surgeon never spoke about the change in their
relations. They tried, in fact, to conceal it, but unsuccessfully; for
Olenka could have no secrets. When the surgeon's colleagues from the
regiment came to see him, she poured tea, and served the supper, and
talked to them about the cattle plague, the foot and mouth disease,
and the municipal slaughter houses. The surgeon was dreadfully
embarrassed, and after the visitors had left, he caught her hand and
hissed angrily:

"Didn't I ask you not to talk about what you don't understand? When we
doctors discuss things, please don't mix in. It's getting to be a
nuisance."

She looked at him in astonishment and alarm, and asked:

"But, Volodichka, what _am_ I to talk about?"

And she threw her arms round his neck, with tears in her eyes, and
begged him not to be angry. And they were both happy.

But their happiness was of short duration. The veterinary surgeon went
away with his regiment to be gone for good, when it was transferred to
some distant place almost as far as Siberia, and Olenka was left
alone.

Now she was completely alone. Her father had long been dead, and his
armchair lay in the attic covered with dust and minus one leg. She got
thin and homely, and the people who met her on the street no longer
looked at her as they had used to, nor smiled at her. Evidently her
best years were over, past and gone, and a new, dubious life was to
begin which it were better not to think about.

In the evening Olenka sat on the steps and heard the music playing and
the rockets bursting in the Tivoli; but it no longer aroused any
response in her. She looked listlessly into the yard, thought of
nothing, wanted nothing, and when night came on, she went to bed and
dreamed of nothing but the empty yard. She ate and drank as though by
compulsion.

And what was worst of all, she no longer held any opinions. She saw
and understood everything that went on around her, but she could not
form an opinion about it. She knew of nothing to talk about. And how
dreadful not to have opinions! For instance, you see a bottle, or you
see that it is raining, or you see a muzhik rid