g my steamers," said Foma, with
exaggerated ease, moving his armchair nearer to the couch.

"Is there much snow yet on the fields?"

"As much as one may want. But it is already melting considerably. There
is water on the roads everywhere."

He looked at her and smiled. Evidently Medinskaya noticed the ease of
his behaviour and something new in his smile, for she adjusted her dress
and drew farther away from him. Their eyes met--and Medinskaya lowered
her head.

"Melting!" said she, thoughtfully, examining the ring on her little
finger.

"Ye-es, streams everywhere." Foma informed her, admiring his boots.

"That's good. Spring is coming."

"Now it won't be delayed long."

"Spring is coming," repeated Medinskaya, softly, as if listening to the
sounds of her words.

"People will start to fall in love," said Foma, with a smile, and for
some reason or other firmly rubbed his hands.

"Are you preparing yourself?" asked Medinskaya, drily.

"I have no need for it. I have been ready long ago. I am already in love
for all my life."

She cast a glance at him, and started to play again, looking at the
strings and saying pensively:

"Spring. How good it is that you are but beginning to live. The heart is
full of power, and there is nothing dark in it."

"Sophya Pavlovna!" exclaimed Foma, softly. She interrupted him with a
caressing gesture.

"Wait, dearest! Today I can tell you something good. Do you know, a
person who has lived long has such moments that when he looks into his
heart he unexpectedly finds there something long forgotten. For years it
lay somewhere in the depth of his heart, but lost none of the fragrance
of youth, and when memory touches it, then spring comes over that
person, breathing upon him the vivifying freshness of the morning of his
life. This is good, though it is very sad."

The strings trembled and wept under the touch of her fingers, and it
seemed to Foma that their sounds and the soft voice of the woman were
touching his heart gently and caressingly. But, still firm in his
decision, he listened to her words and, not knowing their meaning,
thought:

"You may speak! And I won't believe anything you may say."

This thought irritated him. And he felt sorry that he could not listen
to her words as attentively and trustfully as before.

"Are you thinking of how it is necessary to live?" asked the woman.

"Sometimes I think of it, and then I forget again. I have no time for
it!" said F