o burst into sobs, to fall at her feet and to tell her how long
he had been waiting for her. A faint scarcely perceptible scent of
incense hung about her; and that scent reminded him of the time
when he, too, believed in God and used to go to evening service,
and when he used to dream so much of pure romantic love. And it
seemed to him that, because this girl did not love him, all possibility
of the happiness he had dreamed of then was lost to him forever.

She began speaking sympathetically of the illness of his sister,
Nina Fyodorovna. Two months before his sister had undergone an
operation for cancer, and now every one was expecting a return of
the disease.

"I went to see her this morning," said Yulia Sergeyevna, "and it
seemed to me that during the last week she has, not exactly grown
thin, but has, as it were, faded."

"Yes, yes," Laptev agreed. "There's no return of the symptoms, but
every day I notice she grows weaker and weaker, and is wasting
before my eyes. I don't understand what's the matter with her."

"Oh dear! And how strong she used to be, plump and rosy!" said Yulia
Sergeyevna after a moment's silence. "Every one here used to call
her the Moscow lady. How she used to laugh! On holidays she used
to dress up like a peasant girl, and it suited her so well."

Doctor Sergey Borisovitch was at home; he was a stout, red-faced
man, wearing a long coat that reached below his knees, and looking
as though he had short legs. He was pacing up and down his study,
with his hands in his pockets, and humming to himself in an undertone,
"Ru-ru-ru-ru." His grey whiskers looked unkempt, and his hair was
unbrushed, as though he had just got out of bed. And his study with
pillows on the sofa, with stacks of papers in the corners, and with
a dirty invalid poodle lying under the table, produced the same
impression of unkemptness and untidiness as himself.

"M. Laptev wants to see you," his daughter said to him, going into
his study.

"Ru-ru-ru-ru," he hummed louder than ever, and turning into the
drawing-room, gave his hand to Laptev, and asked: "What good news
have you to tell me?"

It was dark in the drawing-room. Laptev, still standing with his
hat in his hand, began apologising for disturbing him; he asked
what was to be done to make his sister sleep at night, and why she
was growing so thin; and he was embarrassed by the thought that he
had asked those very questions at his visit that morning.

"Tell me," he