to be angry, and they were both happy.

But this happiness did not last long. The veterinary surgeon departed,
departed for ever with his regiment, when it was transferred to a
distant place--to Siberia, it may be. And Olenka was left alone.

Now she was absolutely alone. Her father had long been dead, and
his armchair lay in the attic, covered with dust and lame of one
leg. She got thinner and plainer, and when people met her in the
street they did not look at her as they used to, and did not smile
to her; evidently her best years were over and left behind, and now
a new sort of life had begun for her, which did not bear thinking
about. In the evening Olenka sat in the porch, and heard the band
playing and the fireworks popping in the Tivoli, but now the sound
stirred no response. She looked into her yard without interest,
thought of nothing, wished for nothing, and afterwards, when night
came on she went to bed and dreamed of her empty yard. She ate and
drank as it were unwillingly.

And what was worst of all, she had no opinions of any sort. She saw
the objects about her and understood what she saw, but could not
form any opinion about them, and did not know what to talk about.
And how awful it is not to have any opinions! One sees a bottle,
for instance, or the rain, or a peasant driving in his cart, but
what the bottle is for, or the rain, or the peasant, and what is
the meaning of it, one can't say, and could not even for a thousand
roubles. When she had Kukin, or Pustovalov, or the veterinary
surgeon, Olenka could explain everything, and give her opinion about
anything you like, but now there was the same emptiness in her brain
and in her heart as there was in her yard outside. And it was as