“So this is her brother, is it?” thought Riasantzeff, in surprise, for he had imagined that a brother of Lialia, short, fair, and merry, would be short, fair and merry too. Yourii, on the contrary was tall, thin and dark, though as good-looking as Lialia, and with the same regular features. And, as Yourii looked at Riasantzeff, he thought to himself: “So this is the man who in my little sister Lialia, as fresh and fair as a spring morning, loves the woman; loves her just as I myself have loved women.” Somehow, it hurt him to look at Lialia and Riasantzeff, as if he feared that they would read his thoughts. The two men felt that they had much that was important to say to each other. Yourii would have liked to ask: “Do you love Lialia? Really and truly? It would be sad, and indeed shameful, if you were to betray her; she’s so pure, so innocent!” And Riasantzeff would have liked to answer: “Yes, I love your sister deeply; who could do anything else but love her? Look how pure and sweet, and charming she is; how fond she is of me; and what a pretty dimple she’s got!” But instead of all this, Yourii said nothing, and Riasantzeff asked: “Have you been expelled for long?” “For five years,” was Yourii’s answer. At these words Nicolai Yegorovitch, who was pacing up and down the room, stopped for a moment and then, recollecting himself, he continued his walk with the regular, precise steps of an old soldier. As yet he was ignorant of the details of his son’s exile, and this unexpected news came as a shock. “What the devil does it all mean?” he muttered to himself. Lialia understood this movement of her father’s. She was afraid of scenes, and tried to change the conversation. “How foolish of me,” she thought, “not to have remembered to tell Anatole!” But Riasantzeff did not know the real facts, and, replying to Lialia’s invitation to have some tea, he again began to question Yourii. “And what do you think of doing now?” Nicolai Yegorovitch frowned, and said nothing. Yourii at once knew what his father’s silence meant; and before he had reflected upon the consequences of such an answer he replied, defiantly and with irritation, “Nothing for the moment.” “How do you mean—nothing?” asked Nicolai Yegorovitch, stopping short. He had not raised his voice, but its tone clearly conveyed a hidden reproach. “How can you say such a thing? As if I were obliged always to have you round my neck! How can you forget that I am old, and that it is high time that you earned your own living? I say nothing. Live as you like! But can’t you yourself understand?” The tone implied all this. And the more it made Yourii feel that his father was right in thinking as he did, the more he took offence. “Yes, nothing! What do you expect me to do?” he asked provocatively.