Porfiry Vladimirych stood at his study door listening intently. It was so long since he had seen any strangers, and altogether he had become so unaccustomed to the company of human beings, that he was somewhat bewildered. Nearly a quarter of an hour passed, the running and the banging of the doors continued, and yet he was not told who had come. It was clear that the guest was a relative, who did not doubt her right to the host's hospitality. But what relatives had he? He tried to recall them, but his memory was dull. He had had two sons, Volodka and Petka; he had had a mother, Arina Petrovna--long, long ago! Last autumn Nadka Galkina, daughter of his late aunt Varvara Mikhailovna, had taken up her residence at Goryushkino. Could it be she? Why, no. She had already tried to make her way into the Golovliovo temple, but to no avail. "She will not dare to, she will not dare to!" reiterated Yudushka, burning with indignation at the very thought of her intrusion. "But who else can it be?" While he was busy guessing, Yevpraksia approached the door cautiously and announced: "The young lady of Pogorelka, Anna Semyonovna, has arrived." It was indeed Anninka, but changed beyond recognition. She was no longer the beautiful, lively, buoyant girl with rosy cheeks, full gray eyes, high breast and heavy, ash-colored tresses massed low on her head, who had come to Golovliovo shortly after the death of Arina Petrovna, but a weak, wasted creature with a sunken chest, hollow cheeks, a hectic face and languid movements--a bent creature, almost hunch-backed. Even her splendid braids looked miserable, and her eyes, blazing feverishly, seemed larger than ever in her emaciated face. Her eyes alone retained something of their former beauty. Yevpraksia stared long at her as at a stranger, then finally recognized her. "You?" she cried out, clapping her hands. "I. Well?" Anninka laughed quietly, as if to add, "Yes, life has played me a dirty trick." "Is uncle well?" "Uncle? Nothing is the matter with him. He is alive, there is no doubt about that, but we hardly ever see him." "What's the matter with him?" "Just so--it's all because of lonesomeness." "Don't tell me he has stopped haranguing?" "He is real quiet now, miss. He used to talk and talk, but suddenly he became silent. Occasionally we hear him in his study talking to himself and sometimes even laughing, but as soon as he comes out of the room he is quiet. People say his late brother, Stepan Vladimirych, had the same trouble. At first he was gay, then suddenly he became quiet. And you, madam, are you well?" Anninka only waved her hand in reply. "And is your sister well?" "She has been lying in her grave at the wayside at Krechetovo a month." "Lord be merciful! At the wayside!" "Of course, that's how they bury all suicides." "Goodness! A lady--and to take her own life! How is that?"