Her romantic dreams of a husband-friend, an
educated man, who would read with her wise books and help her to find
herself in her confused desires, these dreams were stifled by her
father's inflexible resolution to marry her to Smolin. They had been
killed and had become decomposed, settling down as a bitter sediment in
her soul. She had been accustomed to looking upon herself as better and
higher than the average girl of the merchant class, than the empty and
stupid girl who thinks of nothing but dresses, and who marries almost
always according to the calculation of her parents, and but seldom in
accordance with the free will of her heart. And now she herself is about
to marry merely because it was time, and also because her father needed
a son-in-law to succeed him in his business. And her father evidently
thought that she, by herself, was hardly capable of attracting the
attention of a man, and therefore adorned her with silver. Agitated,
she worked nervously, pricked her fingers, broke needles, but maintained
silence, being aware that whatever she should say would not reach her
father's heart.

And the old man kept on pacing the room to and fro, now humming psalms
softly, now impressively instructing his daughter how to behave with the
bridegroom. And then he also counted something on his fingers, frowned
and smiled.

"Mm! So! Try me, Oh Lord, and judge me. From the unjust and the false
man, deliver me. Yes! Put on your mother's emeralds, Lubov."

"Enough, papa!" exclaimed the girl, sadly. "Pray, leave that alone."

"Don't you kick! Listen to what I'm telling you."

And he was again absorbed in his calculations, snapping his green eyes
and playing with his fingers in front of his face.

"That makes thirty-five percent. Mm! The fellow's a rogue. Send down thy
light and thy truth."

"Papa!" exclaimed Lubov, mournfully and with fright.

"What?"

"You--are you pleased with him?"

"With whom?

"Smolin."

"Smolin? Yes, he's a rogue, he's a clever fellow, a splendid merchant!
Well, I'm off now. So be on your guard, arm yourself."

When Lubov remained alone she flung her work aside and leaned against
the back of her chair, closing her eyes tightly. Her hands firmly
clasped together lay on her knees, and their fingers twitched. Filled
with the bitterness of offended vanity, she felt an alarming fear of the
future, and prayed in silence:

"My God! Oh Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind, sincere.