o as she liked, asking her nothing and not
interrupting her. She translated away as she pleased ten pages
during a lesson, and he did not listen, breathed hard, and having
nothing better to do, gazed at her curly head, or her soft white
hands or her neck and sniffed the fragrance of her clothes. He
caught himself thinking very unsuitable thoughts, and felt ashamed,
or he was moved to tenderness, and then he felt vexed and wounded
that she was so cold and business-like with him, and treated him
as a pupil, never smiling and seeming afraid that he might accidentally
touch her. He kept wondering how to inspire her with confidence and
get to know her better, and to help her, to make her understand how
badly she taught, poor thing.

One day Mdlle. Enquete came to the lesson in a smart pink dress,
slightly _decollete_, and surrounded by such a fragrance that she
seemed to be wrapped in a cloud, and, if one blew upon her, ready
to fly away into the air or melt away like smoke. She apologised
and said she could stay only half an hour for the lesson, as she
was going straight from the lesson to a dance.

He looked at her throat and the back of her bare neck, and thought
he understood why Frenchwomen had the reputation of frivolous
creatures easily seduced; he was carried away by this cloud of
fragrance, beauty, and bare flesh, while she, unconscious of his
thoughts and probably not in the least interested in them, rapidly
turned over the pages and translated at full steam:

"'He was walking the street and meeting a gentleman his friend and
saying, "Where are you striving to seeing your face so pale it makes
me sad."'"

The "Memoires" had long been finished, and now Alice was translating
some other book. One day she came an hour too early for the lesson,
apologizing and saying that she wanted to leave at seven and go to
the Little Theatre. Seeing her out after the lesson, Vorotov dressed
and went to the theatre himself. He went, and fancied that he was
going simply for change and amusement, and that he was not thinking
about Alice at all. He could not admit that a serious man, preparing
for a learned career, lethargic in his habits, could fling up his
work and go to the theatre simply to meet there a girl he knew very
little, who was unintelligent and utterly unintellectual.

Yet for some reason his heart was beating during the intervals, and
without realizing what he was doing, he raced about the corridors
and foyer like