erfectly legitimate. You are as free
in your ideas as I am, and, happily, there can be no disagreement
between us on that point. As for our future, that ought not to alarm
you. I'll work in the sweat of my brow, I'll work day and night--
in fact, I will strain every nerve to make Zina happy. Her life
will be a splendid one! You may ask, am I able to do it. I am,
brother! When a man devotes every minute to one thought, it's not
difficult for him to attain his object. But let us go to Zina; it
will be a joy to her to see you."

Pyotr Mihalitch's heart began to beat. He got up and followed
Vlassitch into the hall, and from there into the drawing-room. There
was nothing in the huge gloomy room but a piano and a long row of
old chairs ornamented with bronze, on which no one ever sat. There
was a candle alight on the piano. From the drawing-room they went
in silence into the dining-room. This room, too, was large and
comfortless; in the middle of the room there was a round table with
two leaves with six thick legs, and only one candle. A clock in a
large mahogany case like an ikon stand pointed to half-past two.

Vlassitch opened the door into the next room and said:

"Zina, here is Petrusha come to see us!"

At once there was the sound of hurried footsteps and Zina came into
the dining-room. She was tall, plump, and very pale, and, just as
when he had seen her for the last time at home, she was wearing a
black skirt and a red blouse, with a large buckle on her belt. She
flung one arm round her brother and kissed him on the temple.

"What a storm!" she said. "Grigory went off somewhere and I was
left quite alone in the house."

She was not embarrassed, and looked at her brother as frankly and
candidly as at home; looking at her, Pyotr Mihalitch, too, lost his
embarrassment.

"But you are not afraid of storms," he said, sitting down at the
table.

"No," she said, "but here the rooms are so big, the house is so
old, and when there is thunder it all rattles like a cupboard full
of crockery. It's a charming house altogether," she went on, sitting
down opposite her brother. "There's some pleasant memory in every
room. In my room, only fancy, Grigory's grandfather shot himself."

"In August we shall have the money to do up the lodge in the garden,"
said Vlassitch.

"For some reason when it thunders I think of that grandfather,"
Zina went on. "And in this dining-room somebody was flogged to
death."

"That's an actual