iety and apprehension stirred
in her heart when she observed that he was obstinately and resolutely
directing his life into obscure paths leading away from the routine
existence about him--that he turned in his career neither to the right
nor the left.

He began to bring books home with him. At first he tried to escape
attention when reading them; and after he had finished a book, he hid
it. Sometimes he copied a passage on a piece of paper, and hid that
also.

"Aren't you well, Pavlusha?" the mother asked once.

"I'm all right," he answered.

"You are so thin," said the mother with a sigh.

He was silent.

They spoke infrequently, and saw each other very little. In the
morning he drank tea in silence, and went off to work; at noon he came
for dinner, a few insignificant remarks were passed at the table, and
he again disappeared until the evening. And in the evening, the day's
work ended, he washed himself, took supper, and then fell to his books,
and read for a long time. On holidays he left home in the morning and
returned late at night. She knew he went to the city and the theater;
but nobody from the city ever came to visit him. It seemed to her that
with the lapse of time her son spoke less and less; and at the same
time she noticed that occasionally and with increasing frequency he
used new words unintelligible to her, and that the coarse, rude, and
hard expressions dropped from his speech. In his general conduct,
also, certain traits appeared, forcing themselves upon his mother's
attention. He ceased to affect the dandy, but became more attentive to
the cleanliness of his body and dress, and moved more freely and
alertly. The increasing softness and simplicity of his manner aroused a
disquieting interest in his mother.

Once he brought a picture and hung it on the wall. It represented
three persons walking lightly and boldly, and conversing.

"This is Christ risen from the dead, and going to Emmaus," explained
Pavel.

The mother liked the picture, but she thought:

"You respect Christ, and yet you do not go to church."

Then more pictures appeared on the walls, and the number of books
increased on the shelves neatly made for him by one of his carpenter
friends. The room began to look like a home.

He addressed his mother with the reverential plural "you," and called
her "mother" instead of "mamma." But sometimes he turned to her
suddenly, and briefly used the simple and familiar form of