‘I took her to Petersburg. Painful as it was to part with her, we could not live together. I sent her to one of the best boarding-schools. Acia knew our separation was inevitable, yet she began by fretting herself ill over it, and almost died. Later on she plucked up more spirit, and spent four years at school; but, contrary to my expectations, she was almost exactly the same as before. The headmistress of the school often made complaints of her, “And we can’t punish her,” she used to say to me, “and she’s not amenable to kindness.” Acia was exceedingly quick-witted, and did better at her lessons than any one; but she never would put herself on a level with the rest; she was perverse, and held herself aloof.… I could not blame her very much for it; in her position she had either to be subservient, or to hold herself aloof. Of all her school-fellows she only made friends with one, an ugly girl of poor family, who was sat upon by the rest. The other girls with whom she was brought up, mostly of good family, did not like her, teased her and taunted her as far as they could. Acia would not give way to them an inch. One day at their lesson on the law of God, the teacher was talking of the vices. ‘Servility and cowardice are the worst vices,’ Acia said aloud. She would still go her own way, in fact; only her manners were improved, though even in that respect I think she did not gain a great deal. ‘At last she reached her seventeenth year. I could not keep her any longer at school. I found myself in a rather serious difficulty. Suddenly a blessed idea came to me--to resign my commission and go abroad for a year or two, taking Acia with me. No sooner thought than done; and here we are on the banks of the Rhine, where I am trying to take up painting, and she … is as naughty and troublesome as ever. But now I hope you will not judge her too harshly; for though she pretends she doesn’t care, she values the good opinion of every one, and yours particularly.’ And Gagin smiled again his gentle smile. I pressed his hand warmly. ‘That’s how it is,’ Gagin began again; ‘but I have a trying time with her. She’s like gun-powder, always ready to go off. So far, she has never taken a fancy to any one, but woe betide us, if she falls in love! I sometimes don’t know what to do with her. The other day she took some notion into her head, and suddenly began declaring I was colder to her than I used to be, that she loved me and no one else, and never would love any one else.… And she cried so, as she said it--’ ‘So that was it,’--I was beginning, but I bit my tongue. ‘Tell me,’ I questioned Gagin, ‘we have talked so frankly about everything, is it possible really, she has never cared for any one yet? Didn’t she see any young men in Petersburg?’ ‘She didn’t like them at all. No, Acia wants a hero--an exceptional individual--or a picturesque shepherd on a mountain pass. But I’ve been chattering away, and keeping you,’ he added, getting up.