adfully good and were so absorbed in our
curiosity that we did not even notice that the proprietor, availing
himself of our excitement, added to our work fourteen _poods_ (a
_pood_ is a weight of forty Russian pounds) of dough a day. We did
not even get tired of working. Tanya's name did not leave our lips
all day long. And each morning we expected her with especial
impatience. Sometimes we imagined that she might come to us--and
that she would be no longer the same Tanya, but another one.

However, we told her nothing about the dispute. We asked her no
questions and treated her as kindly as before. But something new and
foreign to our former feelings for Tanya crept in stealthily into our
relation toward her, and this new _something_ was keen curiosity,
sharp and cold like a steel knife.

"Fellows! Time is up to-day!" said the baker one morning, commencing
to work.

We knew this well without his calling our attention to it, but we
gave a start, nevertheless.

"Watch her! . . . She'll come soon!" suggested the baker. Some one
exclaimed regretfully: "What can we see?"

And again a lively, noisy dispute ensued. To-day we were to learn at
last how far pure and inaccessible to filth was the urn wherein we
had placed all that was best in us. This morning we felt for the
first time that we were really playing a big game, that this test of
our godling's purity might destroy our idol. We had been told all
these days that the soldier was following Tanya obstinately, but for
some reason or other none of us asked how she treated him. And she
kept on coming to us regularly every morning for biscuits and was the
same as before. This day, too, we soon heard her voice:

"Little prisoners! I've come. . . ."

We hastened to let her in, and when she entered we met her, against
our habit, in silence. Staring at her fixedly, we did not know what
to say to her, what to ask her; and as we stood before her we formed
a dark, silent crowd. She was evidently surprised at our unusual
reception, and suddenly we noticed that she turned pale, became
restless, began to bustle about and asked in a choking voice:

"Why are you . . . such?

"And you?" asked the baker sternly, without taking his eyes off the
girl.

"What's the matter with me?"

"Nothing. . . ."

"Well, quicker, give me biscuits. . . ."

She had never before hurried us on. . . .

"There's plenty of time!" said the baker, his eyes fixed, on her face.