Trirodov turned away, then rose abruptly, went to the window, and looked gloomily into the garden. Clearly something was agitating his consciousness, something that needed deciding. Kirsha quietly walked up to him, stepping softly upon the white, warm floor with his sunburnt graceful feet, high in instep, and with long, beautiful, well-formed toes. He touched his father on the shoulder, quietly rested his sunburnt hand there, and said: “You know, daddy, that I seldom do this, only when I must. I felt very much troubled to-day. I knew that something would happen.” “What will happen?” asked his father. “I have a feeling,” said Kirsha with a pleading voice, “that you must let them in to us--these inquisitive girls.” Trirodov looked very attentively at his son and smiled. Kirsha said gravely: “The elder one is very charming. In some way she is like mother. But the other is also nice.” “What brings them here?” again asked Trirodov. “They might have waited until their elders brought them here.” Kirsha smiled, sighed lightly, and said thoughtfully, shrugging his small shoulders: “All women are curious. What’s to be done with them?” Smiling now joyously, now gravely, Trirodov asked: “And will mother not come to us?” “Oh, if she only came, if only for one little minute!” exclaimed Kirsha. “What are we to do with these girls?” asked Trirodov. “Invite them in, show them the house,” replied Kirsha. “And the quiet children?” quietly asked Trirodov. “The quiet children also like the elder one,” answered Kirsha. “And who are they, these girls?” asked Trirodov. “They are our neighbours, the Rameyevs,” said Kirsha. Trirodov smiled again and said: “Yes, one can understand why they are so curious.” He frowned, went to the table, put his hand on one of the dark, heavy prisms and picked it up cautiously, and again carefully put it back in its place, saying at the same time to Kirsha: “Go, then, and meet them and bring them here.” Kirsha, growing animated, asked: “By the door or through the grotto?” “Yes, bring them through the dark passage, underground.” Kirsha went out. Trirodov was left alone. He opened the drawer of his writing-table, took out a strangely shaped flagon of green glass filled with a dark fluid, and looked in the direction of the secret door. At that instant it opened quietly and easily. A pale, quiet boy entered and looked at Trirodov with his dispassionate and innocent, but understanding eyes. Trirodov went up to him. A reproach was ripe on his tongue but he could not say it. Pity and tenderness clung to his lips. Silently he gave the strange-shaped flagon to the boy. The boy went out quietly. CHAPTER III The sisters entered a thicket. The path’s many turnings made them giddy. Suddenly the turrets of the old house vanished from sight. Everything around them assumed an unfamiliar look. “We seem to have lost our way,” said Elena cheerfully.