he had missed. . . .
For some reason there came into his mind, quite inappropriately,
Mentone, where he had lived with his father when he was seven years
old; he thought of Biarritz and two little English girls with whom
he ran about on the sand. . . . He tried to recall to his memory
the colour of the sky, the sea, the height of the waves, and his
mood at the time, but he could not succeed. The English girls flitted
before his imagination as though they were living; all the rest was
a medley of images that floated away in confusion. . . .

"No; it's cold here," thought Volodya. He got up, put on his overcoat,
and went into the "general room."

There they were drinking tea. There were three people at the samovar:
_maman_; an old lady with tortoiseshell pince-nez, who gave music
lessons; and Avgustin Mihalitch, an elderly and very stout Frenchman,
who was employed at a perfumery factory.

"I have had no dinner to-day," said _maman_. "I ought to send the
maid to buy some bread."

"Dunyasha!" shouted the Frenchman.

It appeared that the maid had been sent out somewhere by the lady
of the house.

"Oh, that's of no consequence," said the Frenchman, with a broad
smile. "I will go for some bread myself at once. Oh, it's nothing."

He laid his strong, pungent cigar in a conspicuous place, put on
his hat and went out. After he had gone away _maman_ began telling
the music teacher how she had been staying at the Shumihins', and
how warmly they welcomed her.

"Lili Shumihin is a relation of mine, you know," she said. "Her
late husband, General Shumihin, was a cousin of my husband. And she
was a Baroness Kolb by birth. . . ."

"_Maman_, that's false!" said Volodya irritably. "Why tell lies?"

He knew perfectly well that what his mother said was true; in what
she was saying about General Shumihin and about Baroness Kolb there
was not a word of lying, but nevertheless he felt that she was
lying. There was a suggestion of falsehood in her manner of speaking,
in the expression of her face, in her eyes, in everything.

"You are lying," repeated Volodya; and he brought his fist down on
the table with such force that all the crockery shook and _maman_'s
tea was spilt over. "Why do you talk about generals and baronesses?
It's all lies!"

The music teacher was disconcerted, and coughed into her handkerchief,
affecting to sneeze, and _maman_ began to cry.

"Where can I go?" thought Volodya.

He had been in the street alre