had fetched from the public library on her way to me. "Thanks to
your wife and to Vladimir, they have awakened me to self-realization.
They have been my salvation; they have made me feel myself a human
being. In old days I used to lie awake at night with worries of all
sorts, thinking what a lot of sugar we had used in the week, or
hoping the cucumbers would not be too salt. And now, too, I lie
awake at night, but I have different thoughts. I am distressed that
half my life has been passed in such a foolish, cowardly way. I
despise my past; I am ashamed of it. And I look upon our father now
as my enemy. Oh, how grateful I am to your wife! And Vladimir! He
is such a wonderful person! They have opened my eyes!"

"That's bad that you don't sleep at night," I said.

"Do you think I am ill? Not at all. Vladimir sounded me, and said
I was perfectly well. But health is not what matters, it is not so
important. Tell me: am I right?"

She needed moral support, that was obvious. Masha had gone away.
Dr. Blagovo was in Petersburg, and there was no one left in the
town but me, to tell her she was right. She looked intently into
my face, trying to read my secret thoughts, and if I were absorbed
or silent in her presence she thought this was on her account, and
was grieved. I always had to be on my guard, and when she asked me
whether she was right I hastened to assure her that she was right,
and that I had a deep respect for her.

"Do you know they have given me a part at the Azhogins'?" she went
on. "I want to act on the stage, I want to live--in fact, I mean
to drain the full cup. I have no talent, none, and the part is only