d never alter any decision, just in
the same way as he would never fail to carry out a promise he had
given; to Bersenyev--a Russian to his fingertips--this more than German
exactitude seemed at first odd, and even rather ludicrous; but he soon
got used to it, and ended by finding it--if not deserving of respect--at
least very convenient.

The second day after his arrival, Insarov got up at four o'clock in the
morning, made a round of almost all Kuntsovo, bathed in the river, drank
a glass of cold milk, and then set to work. And he had plenty of work
to do; he was studying Russian history and law, and political economy,
translating the Bulgarian ballads and chronicles, collecting materials
on the Eastern Question, and compiling a Russian grammar for the use of
Bulgarians, and a Bulgarian grammar for the use of Russians. Bersenyev
went up to him and began to discuss Feuerbach. Insarov listened
attentively, made few remarks, but to the point; it was clear from his
observations that he was trying to arrive at a conclusion as to whether
he need study Feuerbach, or whether he could get on without him.
Bersenyev turned the conversation on to his pursuits, and asked him if
he could not show him anything. Insarov read him his translation of two
or three Bulgarian ballads, and was anxious to hear his opinion of them.
Bersenyev thought the translation a faithful one, but not sufficiently
spirited. Insarov paid close attention to his criticism. From the
ballads Bersenyev passed on to the present position of Bulgaria, and
then for the first time he noticed what a change came over Insarov at
the mere mention of his country: not that his face flushed nor his
voice grew louder--no! but at once a sense of force and intense onward
striving was expressed in his whole personality, the lines of his mouth
grew harder and less flexible, and a dull persistent fire glowed in the
depths of his eyes. Insarov did not care to enlarge on his own travels
in his country; but of Bulgaria in general he talked readily with any
one. He talked at length of the Turks, of their oppression, of
the sorrows and disasters of his countrymen, and of their hopes:
concentrated meditation on a single ruling passion could be heard in
every word he uttered.

'Ah, well, there's no mistake about it,' Bersenyev was reflecting
meanwhile, 'that Turkish aga, I venture to think, has been punished for
his father's and mother's death.'

Insarov had not had time to say all h