June 27th.

MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH--Thedora tells me that, should I
wish, there are some people who will be glad to help me by
obtaining me an excellent post as governess in a certain house.
What think you, my friend? Shall I go or not? Of course, I should
then cease to be a burden to you, and the post appears to be a
comfortable one. On the other hand, the idea of entering a
strange house appals me. The people in it are landed gentry, and
they will begin to ask me questions, and to busy themselves about
me. What answers shall I then return? You see, I am now so unused
to society--so shy! I like to live in a corner to which I have
long grown used. Yes, the place with which one is familiar is
always the best. Even if for companion one has but sorrow, that
place will still be the best.... God alone knows what duties the
post will entail. Perhaps I shall merely be required to act as
nursemaid; and in any case, I hear that the governess there has
been changed three times in two years. For God's sake, Makar
Alexievitch, advise me whether to go or not. Why do you never
come near me now? Do let my eyes have an occasional sight of you.
Mass on Sundays is almost the only time when we see one another.
How retiring you have become! So also have I, even though, in a
way, I am your kinswoman. You must have ceased to love me, Makar
Alexievitch. I spend many a weary hour because of it. Sometimes,
when dusk is falling, I find myself lonely--oh, so lonely!
Thedora has gone out somewhere, and I sit here and think, and
think, and think. I remember all the past, its joys and its
sorrows. It passes before my eyes in detail, it glimmers at me as
out of a mist; and as it does so, well-known faces appear, which