“Pardon,” interrupted Vorotov, smiling, “I must warn you, Mademoiselle, that you will have to change your methods somewhat in my case. The fact is that I know Russian, Latin and Greek very well. I have studied comparative philology, and it seems to me that we may leave out Margot and begin straight off to read some author.” And he explained to the Frenchwoman how grown-up people study languages. “A friend of mine,” said he, “who wished to know modern languages put a French, German and Latin gospel in front of him and then minutely analysed one word after another. The result--he achieved his purpose in less than a year. Let us take some author and start reading.” The Frenchwoman gave him a puzzled look. It was evident that Vorotov’s proposal appeared to her naive and absurd. If he had not been grown up she would certainly have got angry and stormed at him, but as he was a very stout, adult man at whom she could not storm, she only shrugged her shoulders half-perceptibly and said: “Just as you please.” Vorotov ransacked his bookshelves and produced a ragged French book. “Will this do?” he asked. “It’s all the same.” “In that case let us begin. Let us start from the title, _Mémoires_.” “Reminiscences....” translated Mademoiselle Enquette. “Reminiscences....” repeated Vorotov. Smiling good naturedly and breathing heavily, he passed a quarter of an hour over the word _mémoires_ and the same with the word _de._ This tired Alice Ossipovna out. She answered his questions carelessly, got confused and evidently neither understood her pupil nor tried to. Vorotov asked her questions, and at the same time glanced furtively at her fair hair, thinking: “The hair is not naturally curly. She waves it. Marvellous! She works from morning till night and yet she finds time to wave her hair.” At eight o’clock sharp she got up, gave him a dry, cold “Au revoir, Monsieur,” and left the study. After her lingered the same sweet, subtle, agitating perfume. The pupil again did nothing for a long time, but sat by the table and thought. During the following days he became convinced that his teacher was a charming girl serious and punctual, but very uneducated and incapable of teaching grown up people; so he decided he would not waste his time, but part with her and engage someone else. When she came for the seventh lesson he took an envelope containing seven roubles out of his pocket. Holding it in his hands and blushing furiously, he began: “I am sorry, Alice Ossipovna, but I must tell you.... I am placed in an awkward position....” The Frenchwoman glanced at the envelope and guessed what was the matter. For the first time during the lessons a shiver passed over her face and the cold, business-like expression disappeared. She reddened faintly, and casting her eyes down, began to play absently with her thin gold chain. And Vorotov, noticing her confusion, understood how precious this rouble was to her, how hard it would be for her to lose this money.