"She has tied herself up with a child," said Valeria contemptuously. Both sisters, though they laughed, sympathised with Liudmilla. They loved each other, and they loved tenderly but not strongly: a superficial, tender love. Darya said: "Why are you crying? Why should you weep your eyes out for a young milksop? Well, you might say that the devil has bound himself to an infant!" "Who's a devil?" shouted Liudmilla angrily. "Why you," answered Darya calmly, "are young, but ..." Darya did not end her sentence, but whistled piercingly. "Nonsense," said Liudmilla, and her voice sounded strangely. A strange, severe smile shone on her face through her tears, like a bright, flaming ray at sunset through the last drops of a weary rain. Darya said in a rather annoyed way: "What do you find interesting in him? Tell me, please." Liudmilla, still with the same curious smile on her face, said slowly and pensively: "How beautiful he is! How many untouched possibilities he has!" "That's very cheap," said Darya decidedly. "All small boys have them." "No, it isn't cheap," said Liudmilla. "They're unclean boys." "And is he clean?" asked Valeria; she pronounced the word "clean" rather contemptuously. "A lot you understand," said Liudmilla, and again began to speak quietly and pensively. "He's quite innocent." Darya smiled. "Oh, is he?" said Darya ironically. "The best age for a boy is fourteen or fifteen. He doesn't understand anything and yet he has a kind of intuition. And he hasn't a disgusting beard." "A wonderful pleasure!" said Valeria with a contemptuous grimace. She was feeling sad. It seemed to her that she was small, weak and frail, and she envied her sisters--she envied Darya her gay laughter and even Liudmilla's tears. Liudmilla said again: "You don't understand anything. I don't love him at all as you think. To love a boy is better than to fall in love with a commonplace face with moustaches. I love him innocently. I don't want anything from him." "If you don't want anything from him, why do you torment him?" said Darya harshly. Liudmilla grew red and a guilty expression came on to her face. Darya took pity on her; she walked up to Liudmilla, put her arms round her and said: "Don't mind what we say--it's only our spitefulness!" Liudmilla began to cry again, and pressing against Darya's shoulder, said sadly: "I know there's nothing for me to hope for from him but if he would only caress me a little!" "What's the matter?" said Darya as she walked away from Liudmilla; she put her hands on her hips and sang loudly: "Last night I left my darling ..."