And she must at that moment have been very much like her grandfather
the sledge-driver.

"You here too?" she said, giving me her hand. "Did you hear me sing?
Well, what did you think of it?" and without waiting for my answer
she went on: "It's a very good thing you are here. I am going
to-night to Petersburg for a short time. You'll let me go, won't
you?"

At midnight I went with her to the station. She embraced me
affectionately, probably feeling grateful to me for not asking
unnecessary questions, and she promised to write to me, and I held
her hands a long time, and kissed them, hardly able to restrain my
tears and not uttering a word.

And when she had gone I stood watching the retreating lights,
caressing her in imagination and softly murmuring:

"My darling Masha, glorious Masha. . . ."

I spent the night at Karpovna's, and next morning I was at work
with Radish, re-covering the furniture of a rich merchant who was
marrying his daughter to a doctor.

XVII

My sister came after dinner on Sunday and had tea with me.

"I read a great deal now," she said, showing me the books which she