We shall now inform our readers of that which they, no doubt, have already divined without our aid: Avdótya had fallen passionately in love with Naúm. How this could come to pass so quickly, it is difficult to explain; it is all the more difficult, in that, up to that time, she had behaved in an irreproachable manner, notwithstanding numerous opportunities and temptations to betray her marital vows. Later on, when her relations with Naúm became public, many persons in the countryside declared that on that very first evening he had put some magic herb into her tea (people with us still believe firmly in the efficacy of this method), and that this was very readily to be discerned in Avdótya, who, they said, very soon thereafter began to grow thin and bored. However that may be, at all events Naúm began to be frequently seen at Akím's inn. First, he journeyed past with that same merchant, but three months later he made his appearance alone, with his own wares; then a rumour became current that he had taken up his residence in one of the near-by towns of the county, and from that time forth not a week passed that his stout, painted cart, drawn by a pair of plump horses which he drove himself, did not make its appearance on the highway. There was no great friendship between him and Akím, but no hostility between them was apparent; Akím paid no great attention to him, and knew nothing about him, except that he was an intelligent young fellow, who had started out boldly. He did not suspect Avdótya's real feelings, and continued to trust her as before. Thus passed two years more. Then, one summer day, before dinner, about one o'clock, Lizavéta Prókhorovna, who precisely during the course of those two years had somehow suddenly grown wrinkled and sallow, despite all sorts of massage, rouge, and powder,--Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with her lap-dog and her folding parasol, strolled forth for a walk in her neat little German park. Lightly rustling her starched gown, she was walking with mincing steps along the sanded path, between two rows of dahlias drawn up in military array, when suddenly she was overtaken by our old acquaintance, Kiríllovna, who respectfully announced that a certain merchant from B*** desired to see her on a very important matter. Kiríllovna, as of yore, enjoyed the mistress's favour (in reality, _she_ managed the estate of Madame Kuntze), and some time previously had received permission to wear a white mob-cap, which imparted still more harshness to the thin features of her swarthy face. "A merchant?"--inquired the lady. "What does he want?" "I don't know, ma'am, what he wants,"--replied Kiríllovna in a wheedling voice;--"but, apparently, he wishes to purchase something from you, ma'am." Lizavéta Prókhorovna returned to the drawing-room, seated herself in her customary place, an arm-chair with a canopy, over which ivy meandered prettily, and ordered the merchant from B*** to be summoned.