t the flushed and uneasy face of the governess.

"Why don't you eat, Varvara Vassilyevna?" he asks. "Offended, I
suppose? I see. . . . You don't like to be told the truth. You must
forgive me, it's my nature; I can't be a hypocrite. . . . I always
blurt out the plain truth" (a sigh). "But I notice that my presence
is unwelcome. No one can eat or talk while I am here. . . . Well,
you should have told me, and I would have gone away. . . . I will
go."

Zhilin gets up and walks with dignity to the door. As he passes the
weeping Fedya he stops.

"After all that has passed here, you are free," he says to Fedya,
throwing back his head with dignity. "I won't meddle in your bringing
up again. I wash my hands of it! I humbly apologise that as a father,
from a sincere desire for your welfare, I have disturbed you and
your mentors. At the same time, once for all I disclaim all
responsibility for your future. . . ."

Fedya wails and sobs more loudly than ever. Zhilin turns with dignity
to the door and departs to his bedroom.

When he wakes from his after-dinner nap he begins to feel the stings
of conscience. He is ashamed to face his wife, his son, Anfissa
Ivanovna, and even feels very wretched when he recalls the scene
at dinner, but his amour-propre is too much for him; he has not the
manliness to be frank, and he goes on sulking and grumbling.

Waking up next morning, he feels in excellent spirits, and whistles
gaily as he washes. Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he
finds there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and
looks at him helplessly.

"Well, young man?" Zhilin greets him good-humouredly, sitting down
to the table. "What have you got to tell me, young man? Are you all
right? Well, come, chubby; give your father a kiss."

With a pale, grave face Fedya goes up to his father and touches his
cheek with his quivering lips, then walks away and sits down in his
place without a word.

THE BLACK MONK

I

ANDREY VASSILITCH KOVRIN, who held a master's degree at the University,
had exhausted himself, and had upset his nerves. He did not send
for a doctor, but casually, over a bottle of wine, he spoke to a
friend who was a doctor, and the latter advised him to spend the
spring and summer in the country. Very opportunely a long letter
came from Tanya Pesotsky, who asked him to come and stay with them
at Borissovka. And he made up his mind that he really must go.

To begin with--that was in April--h