erries or currants. But what made the garden most
cheerful and gave it a lively air, was the continual coming and
going in it, from early morning till evening; people with wheelbarrows,
shovels, and watering-cans swarmed round the trees and bushes, in
the avenues and the flower-beds, like ants. . . .

Kovrin arrived at Pesotsky's at ten o'clock in the evening. He found
Tanya and her father, Yegor Semyonitch, in great anxiety. The clear
starlight sky and the thermometer foretold a frost towards morning,
and meanwhile Ivan Karlovitch, the gardener, had gone to the town,
and they had no one to rely upon. At supper they talked of nothing
but the morning frost, and it was settled that Tanya should not go
to bed, and between twelve and one should walk through the garden,
and see that everything was done properly, and Yegor Semyonitch
should get up at three o'clock or even earlier.

Kovrin sat with Tanya all the evening, and after midnight went out
with her into the garden. It was cold. There was a strong smell of
burning already in the garden. In the big orchard, which was called
the commercial garden, and which brought Yegor Semyonitch several
thousand clear profit, a thick, black, acrid smoke was creeping
over the ground and, curling around the trees, was saving those
thousands from the frost. Here the trees were arranged as on a
chessboard, in straight and regular rows like ranks of soldiers,
and this severe pedantic regularity, and the fact that all the trees
were of the same size, and had tops and trunks all exactly alike,
made them look monotonous and even dreary. Kovrin and Tanya walked
along the rows where fires of dung, straw, and all sorts of refuse
were smouldering, and from time to time they were met by labourers
who wandered in the smoke like shadows. The only trees in flower
were the cherries, plums, and certain sorts of apples, but the whole
garden was plunged in smoke, and it was only near the nurseries
that Kovrin could breathe freely.

"Even as a child I used to sneeze from the smoke here," he said,
shrugging his shoulders, "but to this day I don't understand how
smoke can keep off frost."

"Smoke takes the place of clouds when there are none . . ." answered
Tanya.

"And what do you want clouds for?"

"In overcast and cloudy weather there is no frost."

"You don't say so."

He laughed and took her arm. Her broad, very earnest face, chilled
with the frost, with her delicate black eyebrows, the turn