‘In what part had she the greatest success?’... Aratov wanted to know in what part she had appeared for the last time, but for some reason he asked a different question. ‘In Ostrovosky’s _Gruna_, as far as I remember. But I tell you again she’d no love affairs! You may be sure of that from one thing. She lived in her mother’s house.... You know the sort of shopkeeper’s houses: in every corner a holy picture and a little lamp before it, a deadly stuffiness, a sour smell, nothing but chairs along the walls in the drawing-room, a geranium in the window, and if a visitor drops in, the mistress sighs and groans, as if they were invaded by an enemy. What chance is there for gallantry or love-making? Sometimes they wouldn’t even admit me. Their servant, a muscular female, in a red sarafan, with an enormous bust, would stand right across the passage, and growl, “Where are you coming?” No, I positively can’t understand why she poisoned herself. Sick of life, I suppose,’ Kupfer concluded his cogitations philosophically. Aratov sat with downcast head. ‘Can you give me the address of that house in Kazan?’ he said at last. ‘Yes; but what do you want it for? Do you want to write a letter there?’ ‘Perhaps.’ ‘Well, you know best. But the old lady won’t answer, for she can’t read and write. The sister, though, perhaps ... Oh, the sister’s a clever creature! But I must say again, I wonder at you, my dear boy! Such indifference before ... and now such interest! All this, my boy, comes from too much solitude!’ Aratov made no reply, and went away, having provided himself with the Kazan address. When he was on his way to Kupfer’s, excitement, bewilderment, expectation had been reflected on his face.... Now he walked with an even gait, with downcast eyes, and hat pulled over his brows; almost every one who met him sent a glance of curiosity after him ... but he did not observe any one who passed ... it was not as on the Tversky boulevard! ‘Unhappy Clara! poor frantic Clara!’ was echoing in his soul. X