"Well, never mind!"--I thought;--"at all events, I have seen them, seen them both clearly.... It remains for me now to find out their names." Endeavour to find out their names! What ill-judged, petty curiosity! But I swear that it was not curiosity which had flamed up in me. In truth, it simply seemed to me impossible not to discover, eventually, who they were, after accident had so strangely and so persistently brought us together. Moreover, my former impatient perplexity no longer existed; it had been replaced by a certain confused, sorrowful feeling, of which I was somewhat ashamed.... I was jealous.... I did not hasten back to the farm. I must confess that I had become ashamed to pry into the secrets of others. Moreover, the appearance of the fond pair by daylight, in the light of the sun, although it was unexpected and, I repeat, strange, had not exactly soothed, but chilled me. I no longer found anything supernatural, miraculous in this occurrence .... nothing resembling an impossible dream.... I began to hunt again with greater assiduity than before; but still, there were no genuine raptures. I hit upon a covey, which engaged my attention for an hour and a half... The young partridges did not respond to my whistle for a long time,--probably because I did not whistle with sufficient "objectivity."--The sun had already risen quite high (my watch indicated twelve o'clock), when I directed my steps toward the manor. I walked without haste. Yonder, at last, the low-roofed little house peeped forth from its hill. I approached .... and not without secret satisfaction beheld Lukyánitch. As of yore, he was sitting motionless on the bench in front of the wing. The gate was closed--also the shutters. "Good morning, uncle!"--I shouted to him from afar.--"Hast thou come out to warm thyself?" Lukyánitch turned his gaunt face toward me and silently doffed his cap. I went up to him. "Good morning, uncle, good morning,"--I repeated, wishing to encourage him.--"Why,"--I added, unexpectedly descrying my quarterruble on the ground,--"didst not thou see it?" And I pointed out to him the silver circle, half peeping from beneath the short grass. "Yes, I saw it." "Then why didst thou not pick it up?" "Because it was n't my money, so I did n't pick it up." "What a fellow thou art, brother!"--I returned, not without embarrassment, and picking up the coin, I offered it to him again.--"Take it, take it, for tea." "Much obliged,"--Lukyánitch answered me, with a composed smile.--"It is n't necessary; I 'll manage to pull through without it. Much obliged." "But I am ready to give you still more, with pleasure!"--I replied in confusion. "What for? Please don't disturb yourself--much obliged for your good-will, but we still have a crust of bread. And perhaps we sha'n't eat that up--that 's as it may happen." And he rose, and put out his hand to the wicket-gate.