with tear-stains on his cheeks, thrummed some variations on a fiddle. What
seemed strange was that in the intervals of the reading and music, from the
performers' room, sounds were heard from time to time of a French horn; and
yet this instrument never was brought into requisition. In the sequel it
appeared that the amateur, who had been invited to perform on it, had lost
courage at the moment of facing the public. At last Clara Militch made her
appearance again.

She held a volume of Pushkin in her hand; she did not, however, glance at
it once during her recitation.... She was obviously nervous, the little
book shook slightly in her fingers. Aratov observed also the expression
of weariness which now overspread all her stern features. The first line,
'I write to you ... what more?' she uttered exceedingly simply, almost
naively, and with a naive, genuine, helpless gesture held both hands out
before her. Then she began to hurry a little; but from the beginning of the
lines: 'Another! no! To no one in the whole world I have given my heart!'
she mastered her powers, gained fire; and when she came to the words, 'My
whole life has but been a pledge of a meeting true with thee,' her hitherto
thick voice rang out boldly and enthusiastically, while her eyes just
as boldly and directly fastened upon Aratov. She went on with the same
fervour, and only towards the end her voice dropped again; and in it, and
in her face, the same weariness was reflected again. The last four lines
she completely 'murdered,' as it is called; the volume of Pushkin suddenly
slid out of her hand, and she hastily withdrew.

The audience fell to applauding desperately, encoring.... One
Little-Russian divinity student bellowed in so deep a bass, 'Mill-itch!
Mill-itch!' that his neighbour civilly and sympathetically advised him,
'to take care of his voice, it would be the making of a protodeacon.' But
Aratov at once rose and made for the door. Kupfer overtook him.... 'I say,