of Heaven. Lice eat grass, rust eats iron. . ."

"And lying the soul," my sister added laughing. I read the letter
through once more. At that moment there walked into the kitchen a
soldier who had been bringing us twice a week parcels of tea, French
bread and game, which smelt of scent, from some unknown giver. I
had no work. I had had to sit at home idle for whole days together,
and probably whoever sent us the French bread knew that we were in
want.

I heard my sister talking to the soldier and laughing gaily. Then,
lying down, she ate some French bread and said to me:

"When you wouldn't go into the service, but became a house painter,
Anyuta Blagovo and I knew from the beginning that you were right,
but we were frightened to say so aloud. Tell me what force is it
that hinders us from saying what one thinks? Take Anyuta Blagovo
now, for instance. She loves you, she adores you, she knows you are
right, she loves me too, like a sister, and knows that I am right,
and I daresay in her soul envies me, but some force prevents her
from coming to see us, she shuns us, she is afraid."

My sister crossed her arms over her breast, and said passionately:

"How she loves you, if only you knew! She has confessed her love
to no one but me, and then very secretly in the dark. She led me
into a dark avenue in the garden, and began whispering how precious
you were to her. You will see, she'll never marry, because she loves
you. Are you sorry for her?"