“Drop your books,” suggested Foma, with contempt. “Ah, don’t say that! How can I drop them? You know how many different ideas there are in the world! O Lord! They’re such ideas that set your head afire. According to a certain book everything that exists on earth is rational.” “Everything?” asked Foma. “Everything! While another book says the contrary is true.” “Wait! Now isn’t this nonsense?” “What were you discussing?” asked Mayakin, appearing at the door, in a long frock-coat and with several medals on his collar and his breast. “Just so,” said Lubov, morosely. “We spoke about books,” added Foma. “What kind of books?” “The books she is reading. She read that everything on earth is rational.” “Really!” “Well, and I say it is a lie!” “Yes.” Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard and winked his eyes a little. “What kind of a book is it?” he asked his daughter, after a pause. “A little yellow-covered book,” said Lubov, unwillingly. “Just put that book on my table. That is said not without reflection--everything on earth is rational! See someone thought of it. Yes. It is even very cleverly expressed. And were it not for the fools, it might have been perfectly correct. But as fools are always in the wrong place, it cannot be said that everything on earth is rational. And yet, I’ll look at the book. Maybe there is common sense in it. Goodbye, Foma! Will you stay here, or do you want to drive with me?” “I’ll stay here a little longer.” “Very well.” Lubov and Foma again remained alone. “What a man your father is,” said Foma, nodding his head toward the direction of his godfather. “Well, what kind of a man do you think he is?” “He retorts every call, and wants to cover everything with his words.” “Yes, he is clever. And yet he does not understand how painful my life is,” said Lubov, sadly. “Neither do I understand it. You imagine too much.” “What do I imagine?” cried the girl, irritated. “Why, all these are not your own ideas. They are someone else’s.” “Someone else’s. Someone else’s.” She felt like saying something harsh; but broke down and became silent. Foma looked at her and, setting Medinskaya by her side, thought sadly: “How different everything is--both men and women--and you never feel alike.” They sat opposite each other; both were lost in thought, and neither one looked at the other. It was getting dark outside, and in the room it was quite dark already. The wind was shaking the linden-trees, and their branches seemed to clutch at the walls of the house, as though they felt cold and implored for shelter in the rooms. “Luba!” said Foma, softly. She raised her head and looked at him. “Do you know, I have quarrelled with Medinskaya.” “Why?” asked Luba, brightening up. “So. It came about that she offended me. Yes, she offended me.”