“She grew very red in the face and I saw that she was strangely frightened and confused, and moved her lips so oddly, wishing to say something, without being able to say it. And somehow I began to think that I had misjudged her a little. There was something behind all this. But what? “‘Pan Student,’ she suddenly began, but broke off, and turning toward the door walked out of the room. “I remained with a very unpleasant feeling in my heart. I heard her shut her own door with a bang; evidently the poor girl was very angry--I thought the matter over and decided to go in to her and induce her to return; I would write her the letter she wished. “I entered her room. She was sitting at the table with her head pressed in her hands. “‘Teresa,’ I said, ‘will you listen to me a moment?’ “Whenever I come to this turn of the story I always feel very awkward and embarrassed. But let us return to my narrative. Seeing that she did not reply I repeated: “‘Listen to me, my girl--’ “She sprang to her feet, came close up to me, with eyes flashing, and placing her two hands on my shoulders she began to whisper, or rather to hum in her deep bass voice: “‘Look you here, Pan Student. What of it, what of it if there is no Boless? And what if there is no Teresa? What difference does it make to you? Is it so hard for you to draw a few lines on the paper! Oh, you! And I thought you such a good fellow, such a nice fair-haired little boy. Yes, it is true--there is no Boless, and there is no Teresa, there is only me! Well, what of it?’ “‘Allow me,’ I said greatly disconcerted by this reception. ‘What is it you are saying? Is there no Boless?’ “‘Yes, there is none. But what of it?’ “‘And no Teresa either?’ “‘No, no Teresa either; that is, yes, I am her.’ “I could not understand a word. I stared straight into her eyes, trying to determine which of us two had lost our reason. And she returned once more to the table, rummaged for some time in the drawer, and coming back to me said in an offended tone: “‘Here is the letter you wrote for me, take it back. You do not wish to write me a second one anyway. Others will probably be kinder than you and would do so.’ [Illustration: =Maxim Gorki=] “I recognized the letter she held out to me as the one I wrote for her to Boless. Humph! “‘Look here, Teresa,’ I said to her. ‘Will you please explain to me what it all means? Why do you ask people to write letters for you when you do not find it necessary even to post them?’ “‘Post them? Where to?’ “‘Why, to this Boless, of course.’ “‘But he does not exist!’ “I really could not understand a word. There was nothing left for me to do but to spit and walk out of the room. But she explained herself.