"I took her to Petersburg, and though hard for me to leave her, it not being in my power to keep her near me, I placed her in one of the best boarding-schools of the city. Annouchka understood the necessity of this separation, but she fell ill and nearly died. Later she became accustomed to this kind of life. She remained at boarding-school four years, and, contrary to my expectation, she came out nearly the same as she went in. The mistress of the boarding-school often complained of her. "Punishments have no effect upon her," she told me, "and marks of affection find her equally insensible." Annouchka was very intelligent; she studied hard, and in this respect led all her companions; but nothing could make her comply with the ordinary rules,--she remained obstinate, and with an unsociable humor. I do not blame her entirely; she was in a position where there were but two ways of acting open to her,--a complacent servility or a proud shyness. Among all her schoolmates, she was intimate with but one, a young girl, quite plain, poor, and persecuted. The other scholars of the boarding-school, most of them of the aristocracy, did not like her, and pursued her with their sarcasms. Annouchka kept aloof from them in every way. One day the priest charged with their religious instruction spoke of the faults of youth; Annouchka said aloud: "There are no greater faults than flattery and meanness." In a word, her character did not change, only her manners improved, although there was still much to be desired. "So she reached her seventeenth year. My position was quite embarrassing; but a happy thought suddenly occurred to me: it was to leave the service, pass three or four years in a strange country and take my sister with me. As soon as I conceived this resolution I put it in execution, and that is why you find us both upon the banks of the Rhine, I attempting to paint, and she doing anything she wishes, according to her fancy. Now I hope that you will not judge her too severely, for I warn you that Annouchka, though pretending to care nothing about it, is very sensitive to the opinion that others have of her, and to yours above all." As he said these last words, Gaguine smiled with his usual calmness. I pressed his hand with warmth. "All this is nothing," he replied, "but I tremble for her in the future. She has one of the most inflammable natures. Up to the present time no one has pleased her; but if she ever loves, who can tell what may result from it? I do not at times know how to behave towards her. Imagine those days when she wished to prove to me that I was cool towards her, whilst she loved only me, and would never love another man! and while saying this she would weep bitterly. "It is for this reason then?--" I began to say, but I immediately stopped myself.