He loved a handsome damsel; For that his grief is great, And heavy his misfortune, For she came of high estate. The lad's heart is breaking, But vain his grief must be, Because he loved a damsel Above his own degree. When all the night is darkened The sun may not appear; And so the pretty maiden. She may not be his dear." LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Sitting and reflecting for some time_] Give it here. [_Takes the paper and hides it, then rises_] Now I will write something for you. MÍTYA. You! LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Only I don't know how to do it in verse, but--just plain Russian. MÍTYA. I shall regard such a kindness from you as a great happiness to myself. [_Gives her paper and pen_] Here they are. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. It's a great pity that I write so abominably. [_She writes_; MÍTYA _tries to look_] Only don't you look, or I'll stop writing and tear it up. MÍTYA. I won't look. But kindly condescend to permit me to reply, in so far as I am able, and to write some verses for you on a second occasion. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Laying down the pen_] Write if you wish--only I've inked all my fingers; if I'd only known, I'd better not have written. MÍTYA. May I have it? LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Well, take it; only don't dare to read it while I'm here, but after, when I've gone. _Folds together the paper and gives it to him; he conceals it in his pocket_. MÍTYA. It shall be as you wish. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Rises_] Will you come up-stairs to us? MÍTYA. I will--this minute. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Good-by. MÍTYA. To our pleasant meeting! LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _goes to the door; from the doorway_ LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH _comes in_. SCENE XI _The same and_ LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Ah! LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. [_Looking at_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA] Wait! What sort of a creature is this? On what pretext? On what business? We must consider this matter. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Is it you, uncle! LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Oh, it's I, niece! What? You got a fright? Clear out, never mind! I'm not the man to tell tales. I'll put it in a box, and think it over after, all in my spare time. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Good-by. [_Goes out_. SCENE XII MÍTYA _and_ LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Mítya, receive unto thyself Lyubím Kárpych TORTSÓV, the brother of a wealthy merchant. MÍTYA. You are welcome. LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. [_Sits down_] My brother turned me out! And in the street, in a coat like this--one has to dance about a bit! The frost--at Christmas time--brrr!--My hands are frozen, and my feet nipped--brrr! MÍTYA. Warm yourself up, Lyubím Kárpych. LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. You will not drive me away, Mítya? If you do, I'll freeze in the yard--I'll freeze like a dog. MÍTYA. How could I? What are you saying?