‘No, not with an actor, with an actress, to whom she became attached.... It’s true this actress had a protector, a wealthy gentleman, no longer young, who did not marry her simply because he happened to be married--and indeed I fancy the actress was a married woman.’ Furthermore Kupfer informed Aratov that Clara had even before her coming to Moscow acted and sung in provincial theatres, that, having lost her friend the actress--the gentleman, too, it seemed, had died, or else he had made it up with his wife--Kupfer could not quite remember this--she had made the acquaintance of the princess, ‘that heart of gold, whom you, my dear Yakov Andreitch,’ the speaker added with feeling, ‘were incapable of appreciating properly’; that at last Clara had been offered an engagement in Kazan, and that she had accepted it, though before then she used to declare that she would never leave Moscow! But then how the people of Kazan liked her--it was really astonishing! Whatever the performance was, nothing but nosegays and presents! nosegays and presents! A wholesale miller, the greatest swell in the province, had even presented her with a gold inkstand! Kupfer related all this with great animation, without giving expression, however, to any special sentimentality, and interspersing his narrative with the questions, ‘What is it to you?’ and ‘Why do you ask?’ when Aratov, who listened to him with devouring attention, kept asking for more and more details. All was told at last, and Kupfer was silent, rewarding himself for his exertions with a cigar. ‘And why did she take poison?’ asked Aratov. ‘In the paper it was stated....’ Kupfer waved his hand. ‘Well ... that I can’t say ... I don’t know. But the paper tells a lie. Clara’s conduct was exemplary ... no love affairs of any kind.... And indeed how should there be with her pride! She was proud--as Satan himself--and unapproachable! A headstrong creature! Hard as rock! You’ll hardly believe it--though I knew her so well--I never saw a tear in her eyes!’ ‘But I have,’ Aratov thought to himself. ‘But there’s one thing,’ continued Kupfer, ‘of late I noticed a great change in her: she grew so dull, so silent, for hours together there was no getting a word out of her. I asked her even, “Has any one offended you, Katerina Semyonovna?” For I knew her temper; she could never swallow an affront! But she was silent, and there was no doing anything with her! Even her triumphs on the stage didn’t cheer her up; bouquets fairly showered on her ... but she didn’t even smile! She gave one look at the gold inkstand--and put it aside! She used to complain that no one had written the real part for her, as she conceived it. And her singing she’d given up altogether. It was my fault, my dear boy!... I told her that you thought she’d no musical knowledge. But for all that ... why she poisoned herself--is incomprehensible! And the way she did it!...’