vivid as to equal a
second-sight. "There she is again," I said to myself; and in order to
pull myself together, I began talking to the driver, and asked him
whether he were married; whereupon he replied that without the old
woman at home, there would be no go, then said something I did not
hear, as I had caught sight of the Ploszow poplars in the distance. I
had not paid any heed to the time we had been on the road.

At the sight of Ploszow I felt more troubled still, and my eagerness
increased. I tried to pay attention to outward things, changes that
had taken place during my absence, and look at the new buildings on
the road. I repeated to myself mechanically that the weather was very
fine, and the spring exceptionally early this year. And indeed, the
weather was magnificent; the morning air was crisp and transparent;
near the cottages the apple-trees, in full bloom, were scattering
their petals like snowflakes on the grass; it was like a long line of
pictures by the modern school of painters. Wherever the eye turned,
there was that luminous _plein-air_ in the midst of which moved the
figures of people working in the fields or near their cottages. I saw
it all, observed every detail; but, strange to say, I was not able to
take it in, or give myself up to it altogether. The impressions had
lost their absorbing power, and remained only on the surface of the
brain, the brain itself being full of other thoughts. In this state of
divided attention I approached Ploszow.

Presently the cool air of the lime avenue fanned my face, and I saw
at the other end, far off, the windows of the house. The scattered,
futile thoughts hammered and knocked louder than ever at my brain. I
stopped the driver from going straight to the house, and dismissed
him, I do not know why, at the gate. Followed by his thanks, I went on
foot straight towards the veranda. I cannot explain to myself why I
felt so troubled, unless it was that within these well-known walls
something unknown was awaiting me, which was in close connection with
the tragic past. Crossing the courtyard, I felt such a weight upon my
chest that it obstructed my breath. "What the deuce is the matter with
me?" said I, inwardly. As I had dismissed the cab, nobody had heard me
coming. The hall was empty; I went in to the dining-room to wait until
the ladies came down.

I knew they would come soon, as the table was laid for breakfast,
and the samovar, whispering and growling, was se