"Then she has not told me the most important thing of all," he answered, smiling, and shaking his head at me with an air of reproach. "What had I to tell?" I replied: "that I was bored?--but that will pass away." (And indeed it now seemed to me, not only that my ennui would pass away, but that it was something already gone by, which could not return.) "It is not well not to know how to bear solitude:--is it possible that you are truly a 'grown young lady'?" "I believe so!" I answered smiling. "No, no, or at least a naughty young lady, who only lives to be admired, and who, when she finds herself isolated, gives way, and no longer enjoys anything; all for show, nothing for herself." "You have a lovely idea of me, it seems!" I answered, to say something. "No," he returned, after a moment's silence; "it is not in vain that you have that resemblance to your father; _there is something in you_!" Again those kind, steadfast eyes exerted their charm over me, filling me with strange emotion. I noticed for the first time at this moment that the face which to a casual glance seemed so gay, the expression, so peculiarly his own, where at first one seemed to read only serenity, afterwards revealed more and more clearly, a reserve of deep thought and a shade of sadness. "You should not feel ennui," he said, "you have music, which you are able to understand, books, study; you have before you a whole life, for which the present is the only moment to prepare yourself, so that hereafter you may not have to repine. In a year it will be too late." He spoke to me like a father or an uncle, and I understood that he was making an effort to come to my level. I was a little offended that he should think me so much below him, and on the other hand, it was gratifying to feel that he cared to make the effort for my sake. The rest of the evening was devoted to a business conversation between him and Macha. "And now, good-night, my dear Katia," said he, rising, approaching me, and taking my hand. "When shall we see each other again?" asked Macha. "In the spring," he replied, still holding my hand; "I am now going to Danilovka" (our other estate); "I must look into matters there and make some necessary arrangements, then I have to go to Moscow upon business of my own, and later--or in the summer--we shall see each other again." "Why do you go for so long a time?" I asked, dejectedly; for I was already hoping to see him every day, and it was with a sudden sinking of my heart that I thought of again battling with my ennui. Probably my eyes and voice let this be guessed. "Come, occupy yourself more; drive away the blues!" he said in a voice that seemed to me too placid and cold. "In the spring I will hold an examination," he added, dropping my hand without looking at me. We accompanied him to the ante-chamber, where he hurriedly put on his pelisse, and again his eyes seemed to avoid mine.