heir masters. . . . It's very nice of
you," said Orlov jocosely. "Will you have some wine and some coffee,
though? I will tell them to make some."

"No, thank you. I have come to see you about a very important matter,
Georgy Ivanitch."

"I am not very fond of important matters, but I shall be glad to
be of service to you. What do you want?"

"You see," I began, growing agitated, "I have here with me Zinaida
Fyodorovna's daughter. . . . Hitherto I have brought her up, but,
as you see, before many days I shall be an empty sound. I should
like to die with the thought that she is provided for."

Orlov coloured a little, frowned a little, and took a cursory and
sullen glance at me. He was unpleasantly affected, not so much by
the "important matter" as by my words about death, about becoming
an empty sound.

"Yes, it must be thought about," he said, screening his eyes as
though from the sun. "Thank you. You say it's a girl?"

"Yes, a girl. A wonderful child!"

"Yes. Of course, it's not a lap-dog, but a human being. I understand
we must consider it seriously. I am prepared to do my part, and am
very grateful to you."

He got up, walked about, biting his nails, and stopped before a
picture.

"We must think about it," he said in a hollow voice, standing with
his back to me. "I shall go to Pekarsky's to-day and will ask him
to go to Krasnovsky's. I don't think he will make much ado about
consenting to take the child."

"But, excuse me, I don't see what Krasnovsky has got to do with
it," I said, also getting up and walking to a picture at the other
end of the room.

"But she bears his name, of course!" said Orlov.

"Yes, he may be legally obliged to accept the child--I don't know;
but I came to you, Georgy Ivanitch, not to discuss the legal aspect."

"Yes, yes, you are right," he agreed briskly. "I believe I am talking
nonsense. But don't excite yourself. We will decide the matter to
our mutual satisfaction. If one thing won't do, we'll try another;
and if that won't do, we'll try a third--one way or another this
delicate question shall be settled. Pekarsky will arrange it all.
Be so good as to leave me your address and I will let you know at
once what we decide. Where are you living?"

Orlov wrote down my address, sighed, and said with a smile:

"Oh, Lord, what a job it is to be the father of a little daughter!
But Pekarsky will arrange it all. He is a sensible man. Did you
stay long in Paris?"

"Two months