“My father, before all, and above all, desired to live, and lived…. Perhaps he had a presentiment that he would not have long to enjoy the “savour” of life: he died at forty-two. I described my evening at the Zasyekins’ minutely to my father. Half attentively, half carelessly, he listened to me, sitting on a garden seat, drawing in the sand with his cane. Now and then he laughed, shot bright, droll glances at me, and spurred me on with short questions and assents. At first I could not bring myself even to utter the name of Zinaïda, but I could not restrain myself long, and began singing her praises. My father still laughed; then he grew thoughtful, stretched, and got up. I remembered that as he came out of the house he had ordered his horse to be saddled. He was a splendid horseman, and, long before Rarey, had the secret of breaking in the most vicious horses. “Shall I come with you, father?” I asked. “No,” he answered, and his face resumed its ordinary expression of friendly indifference. “Go alone, if you like; and tell the coachman I’m not going.” He turned his back on me and walked rapidly away. I looked after him; he disappeared through the gates. I saw his hat moving along beside the fence; he went into the Zasyekins’. He stayed there not more than an hour, but then departed at once for the town, and did not return home till evening. After dinner I went myself to the Zasyekins’. In the drawing-room I found only the old princess. On seeing me she scratched her head under her cap with a knitting-needle, and suddenly asked me, could I copy a petition for her. “With pleasure,” I replied, sitting down on the edge of a chair. “Only mind and make the letters bigger,” observed the princess, handing me a dirty sheet of paper; “and couldn’t you do it to-day, my good sir?” “Certainly, I will copy it to-day.” The door of the next room was just opened, and in the crack I saw the face of Zinaïda, pale and pensive, her hair flung carelessly back; she stared at me with big chilly eyes, and softly closed the door. “Zina, Zina!” called the old lady. Zinaïda made no response. I took home the old lady’s petition and spent the whole evening over it. IX