"

Katenka stopped short, and once again became thoughtful.

"What?" I asked with some anxiety.

"Nothing, I only said that--"

"No. You said, 'Who knows whether we--'"

"And YOU said, didn't you, that once there was ever such a ball at
Grandmamma's?"

"Yes. It is a pity you were not there. There were heaps of guests--about
a thousand people, and all of them princes or generals, and there was
music, and I danced--But, Katenka" I broke off, "you are not listening
to me?"

"Oh yes, I am listening. You said that you danced--?"

"Why are you so serious?"

"Well, one cannot ALWAYS be gay."

"But you have changed tremendously since Woloda and I first went
to Moscow. Tell me the truth, now: why are you so odd?" My tone was
resolute.

"AM I so odd?" said Katenka with an animation which showed me that my
question had interested her. "I don't see that I am so at all."

"Well, you are not the same as you were before," I continued. "Once upon
a time any one could see that you were our equal in everything, and that
you loved us like relations, just as we did you; but now you are always
serious, and keep yourself apart from us."

"Oh, not at all."

"But let me finish, please," I interrupted, already conscious of a
slight tickling in my nose--the precursor of the tears which usually
came to my eyes whenever I had to vent any long pent-up feeling. "You
avoid us, and talk to no one but Mimi, as though you had no wish for our
further acquaintance."

"But one cannot always remain the same--one must change a little
sometimes," replied Katenka, who had an inveterate habit of pleading
some such fatalistic necessity whenever she did not know what else to
say.

I recollect that once, when having a quarrel with Lubotshka, who had
called her "a stupid girl," she (Katenka) retorted that EVERYBODY
could not be wise, seeing that a certain number of stupid people was
a necessity in the world. However, on the present occasion, I was not
satisfied that any such inevitable necessity for "changing sometimes"
existed, and asked further:

"WHY is it necessary?"

"Well, you see, we MAY not always go on living together as we are doing
now," said Katenka, colouring slightly, and regarding Philip's back with
a grave expression on her face. "My Mamma was able to live with your
mother because she was her friend; but will a similar arrangement always
suit the Countess, who, they say, is so easily offended? Besides, in
any case, we shall