The house of the widow Milovidov turned out to be exactly as Kupfer had described it; and the widow herself really was like one of the tradesmen’s wives in Ostrovsky, though the widow of an official; her husband had held his post under government. Not without some difficulty, Aratov, after a preliminary apology for his boldness, for the strangeness of his visit, delivered the speech he had prepared, explaining that he was anxious to collect all the information possible about the gifted artist so early lost, that he was not led to this by idle curiosity, but by profound sympathy for her talent, of which he was the devoted admirer (he said that, devoted admirer!) that, in fact, it would be a sin to leave the public in ignorance of what it had lost--and why its hopes were not realised. Madame Milovidov did not interrupt Aratov; she did not understand very well what this unknown visitor was saying to her, and merely opened her eyes rather wide and rolled them upon him, thinking, however, that he had a quiet respectable air, was well dressed ... and not a pickpocket ... hadn’t come to beg. ‘You are speaking of Katia?’ she inquired, directly Aratov was silent. ‘Yes ... of your daughter.’ ‘And you have come from Moscow for this?’ ‘Yes, from Moscow.’ ‘Only on this account?’ ‘Yes.’ Madame Milovidov gave herself a sudden shake. ‘Why, are you an author? Do you write for the newspapers?’ ‘No, I’m not an author--and hitherto I have not written for the newspapers.’ The widow bowed her head. She was puzzled. ‘Then, I suppose ... it’s from your own interest in the matter?’ she asked suddenly. Aratov could not find an answer for a minute. ‘Through sympathy, from respect for talent,’ he said at last. The word ‘respect’ pleased Madame Milovidov. ‘Eh!’ she pronounced with a sigh ... ‘I’m her mother, any way--and terribly I’m grieved for her.... Such a calamity all of a sudden!... But I must say it: a crazy girl she always was--and what a way to meet with her end! Such a disgrace.... Only fancy what it was for a mother? we must be thankful indeed that they gave her a Christian burial....’ Madame Milovidov crossed herself. ‘From a child up she minded no one--she left her parent’s house ... and at last--sad to say!--turned actress! Every one knows I never shut my doors upon her; I loved her, to be sure! I was her mother, any way! she’d no need to live with strangers ... or to go begging!...’ Here the widow shed tears ... ‘But if you, my good sir,’ she began, again wiping her eyes with the ends of her kerchief, ‘really have any idea of the kind, and you are not intending anything dishonourable to us, but on the contrary, wish to show us respect, you’d better talk a bit with my other daughter. She’ll tell you everything better than I can.... Annotchka! called Madame Milovidov, ‘Annotchka, come here! Here is a worthy gentleman from Moscow wants to have a talk about Katia!’