that seriously.' Bazarov
still sat immovable. 'Yevgeny Vassilyitch, why don't you speak?'

'Why, what am I to say to you? People are not generally worth being
missed, and I less than most.'

'Why so?'

'I'm a practical, uninteresting person. I don't know how to talk.'

'You are fishing, Yevgeny Vassilyitch.'

'That's not a habit of mine. Don't you know yourself that I've nothing
in common with the elegant side of life, the side you prize so much?'

Madame Odintsov bit the corner of her handkerchief.

'You may think what you like, but I shall be dull when you go away.'

'Arkady will remain,' remarked Bazarov. Madame Odintsov shrugged her
shoulders slightly. 'I shall be dull,' she repeated.

'Really? In any case you will not feel dull for long.'

'What makes you suppose that?'

'Because you told me yourself that you are only dull when your regular
routine is broken in upon. You have ordered your existence with such
unimpeachable regularity that there can be no place in it for dulness
or sadness ... for any unpleasant emotions.'

'And do you consider I am so unimpeachable ... that's to say, that I
have ordered my life with such regularity?'

'I should think so. Here's an example; in a few minutes it will strike
ten, and I know beforehand that you will drive me away.'

'No; I'm not going to drive you away, Yevgeny Vassilyitch. You may
stay. Open that window.... I feel half-stifled.'

Bazarov got up and gave a push to the window. It flew up with a loud
crash.... He had not expected it to open so easily; besides, his hands
were shaking. The soft, dark night looked in to the room with its
almost black sky, its faintly rustling trees, and the fresh fragrance
of the pure open air.

'Draw the blind and sit down,' said Madame Odintsov; 'I want to have a
talk with you before you go away. Tell me something about yourself; you
never talk about yourself.'

'I try to talk to you upon improving subjects, Anna Sergyevna.'

'You are very modest.... But I should like to know something about you,
about your family, about your father, for whom you are forsaking us.'

'Why is she talking like that?' thought Bazarov.

'All that's not in the least interesting,' he uttered aloud,
'especially for you; we are obscure people....'

'And you regard me as an aristocrat?'

Bazarov lifted his eyes to Madame Odintsov.

'Yes,' he said, with exaggerated sharpness.

She smiled. 'I see you know me very little, though you do main