iza, pale and exhausted, was
in a white dress as though for a holiday, with a flower in her hair;
she looked at him, as yesterday, sorrowfully and intelligently,
smiled and talked, and all with an expression as though she wanted
to tell him something special, important--him alone. They could
hear the larks trilling and the church bells pealing. The windows
in the factory buildings were sparkling gaily, and, driving across
the yard and afterwards along the road to the station, Korolyov
thought neither of the workpeople nor of lake dwellings, nor of the
devil, but thought of the time, perhaps close at hand, when life
would be as bright and joyous as that still Sunday morning; and he
thought how pleasant it was on such a morning in the spring to drive
with three horses in a good carriage, and to bask in the sunshine.

AN UPHEAVAL

MASHENKA PAVLETSKY, a young girl who had only just finished her
studies at a boarding school, returning from a walk to the house
of the Kushkins, with whom she was living as a governess, found the
household in a terrible turmoil. Mihailo, the porter who opened the
door to her, was excited and red as a crab.

Loud voices were heard from upstairs.

"Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled
with her husband," thought Mashenka.

In the hall and in the corridor she met maid-servants. One of them
was crying. Then Mashenka saw, running out of her room, the master
of the house himself, Nikolay Sergeitch, a little man with a flabby
face and a bald head, though he was not old. He was red in the face
and twitching all over. He passed the governess without noticing
her, and throwing up his arms, exclaimed:

"Oh, how horrible it is! How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous!
Abominable!"

Mashenka went into her room, and then, for the first time in her
life, it was her lot to experience in all its acuteness the feeling
that is so familiar to persons in dependent positions, who eat the
bread of the rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds. There
was a search going on in her room. The lady of the house, Fedosya
Vassilyevna, a stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick
black eyebrows, a faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who
was exactly like a plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was
standing, without her cap on, at the table, putting back into
Mashenka's workbag balls of wool, scraps of materials, and bits of
paper. . . . Evidently the governe