a mournful smile never left her face ... bitter grief, still fresh in its
poignancy, was expressed in that smile.

'You knew my sister?' she asked Aratov.

'No, I did not actually know her,' he answered. 'I met her and heard her
once ... but one need only hear and see your sister once to ...'

'Do you wish to write her biography?' Anna questioned him again.

Aratov had not expected this inquiry; however, he replied promptly, 'Why
not? But above all, I wanted to acquaint the public ...'

Anna stopped him by a motion of her hand.

'What is the object of that? The public caused her plenty of suffering
as it is; and indeed Katia had only just begun life. But if you
yourself--(Anna looked at him and smiled again a smile as mournful but more
friendly ... as though she were saying to herself, Yes, you make me feel I
can trust you) ... if you yourself feel such interest in her, let me ask
you to come and see us this afternoon ... after dinner. I can't just now
... so suddenly ... I will collect my strength ... I will make an effort
... Ah, I loved her too much!'

Anna turned away; she was on the point of bursting into sobs.

Aratov rose hurriedly from his seat, thanked her for her offer, said he
should be sure ... oh, very sure!--to come--and went off, carrying away
with him an impression of a soft voice, gentle and sorrowful eyes, and
burning in the tortures of expectation.