a boy impatiently looking for some one, and he was
disappointed when the interval was over. And when he saw the familiar
pink dress and the handsome shoulders under the tulle, his heart
quivered as though with a foretaste of happiness; he smiled joyfully,
and for the first time in his life experienced the sensation of
jealousy.

Alice was walking with two unattractive-looking students and an
officer. She was laughing, talking loudly, and obviously flirting.
Vorotov had never seen her like that. She was evidently happy,
contented, warm, sincere. What for? Why? Perhaps because these men
were her friends and belonged to her own circle. And Vorotov felt
there was a terrible gulf between himself and that circle. He bowed
to his teacher, but she gave him a chilly nod and walked quickly
by; she evidently did not care for her friends to know that she had
pupils, and that she had to give lessons to earn money.

After the meeting at the theatre Vorotov realised that he was in
love. . . . During the subsequent lessons he feasted his eyes on
his elegant teacher, and without struggling with himself, gave full
rein to his imaginations, pure and impure. Mdlle. Enquete's face
did not cease to be cold; precisely at eight o'clock every evening
she said coldly, "Au revoir, monsieur," and he felt she cared nothing
about him, and never would care anything about him, and that his
position was hopeless.

Sometimes in the middle of a lesson he would begin dreaming, hoping,
making plans. He inwardly composed declarations of love, remembered
that Frenchwomen were frivolous and easily won, but it was enough
for him to glance at the face of his teacher for his ideas to be
extinguished as a candle is blown out when you bring it into the
wind on the verandah. Once, overcome, forgetting himself as though
in delirium, he could not restrain himself, and barred her way as
she was going from the study into the entry after the lesson, and,
gasping for breath and stammering, began to declare his love:

"You are dear to me! I . . . I love you! Allow me to speak."

And Alice turned pale--probably from dismay, reflecting that after
this declaration she could not come here again and get a rouble a
lesson. With a frightened look in her eyes she said in a loud
whisper:

"Ach, you mustn't! Don't speak, I entreat you! You mustn't!"

And Vorotov did not sleep all night afterwards; he was tortured by
shame; he blamed himself and thought intensely. It seemed