enuine type of those devotees of science, of whom--no not of
whom--whereof the middle class of Russian gentry are so justly proud!
And, secondly, Elena caught me the other day kissing Zoya's arms!'

'Zoya's?'

'Yes, Zoya's. What would you have? She has such fine shoulders.'

'Shoulders?'

'Well there, shoulders and arms, isn't it all the same? Elena caught me
in this unconstrained proceeding after dinner, and before dinner I had
been abusing Zoya in her hearing. Elena unfortunately doesn't understand
how natural such contradictions are. Then you came on the scene, you
have faith in--what the deuce is it you have faith in?... You blush and
look confused, you discuss Schiller and Schelling (she's always on the
look-out for remarkable men), and so you have won the day, and I, poor
wretch, try to joke--and all the while----'

Shubin suddenly burst into tears, turned away, and dropping upon the
ground clutched at his hair.

Bersenyev went up to him.

'Pavel,' he began, 'what childishness this is! Really! what's the matter
with you to-day? God knows what nonsense you have got into your head,
and you are crying. Upon my word, I believe you must be putting it on.'

Shubin lifted up his head. The tears shone bright on his cheeks in the
moonlight, but there was a smile on his face.

'Andrei Petrovitch,' he said, 'you may think what you please about me.
I am even ready to agree with you that I'm hysterical now, but, by God,
I'm in love with Elena, and Elena loves you. I promised, though, to see
you home, and I will keep my promise.'

He got up.

'What a night! silvery, dark, youthful! How sweet it must be to-night
for men who are loved! How sweet for them not to sleep! Will you sleep,
Andrei Petrovitch?'

Bersenyev made no answer, and quickened his pace.

'Where are you hurrying to?' Shubin went on. 'Trust my words, a night
like this will never come again in your life, and at home, Schelling
will keep. It's true he did you good service to-day; but you need not
hurry for all that. Sing, if you can sing, sing louder than ever; if
you can't sing, take off your hat, throw up your head, and smile to the
stars. They are all looking at you, at you alone; the stars never do
anything but look down upon lovers--that's why they are so charming. You
are in love, I suppose, Andrei Petrovitch?... You don't answer me... why
don't you answer?' Shubin began again: 'Oh, if you feel happy, be quiet,
be quiet! I chatter because I am a