looked after him, thought a little, and went off to Tatyana, who had not yet brought in the samovar, and with whom she did—it is true—drink tea, but she also scoured pots, and plucked chickens, and even combed out the tangled mane of a small boy.
About dinner-time she returned to her little apartments.. . . She had not long to wait for Nezhdanov.
He returned, weary and covered with dust, and almost fell on to the sofa. She at once sat down beside him. 'Well? well? Tell me!'
'You remember those two lines,' he answered in a weak voice:
If it had not been so sad"?
Do you remember?'
'Of course I do.'
'Well, those lines apply precisely to my first expedition. But no! There was positively more of the comic in it. In the first place, I'm convinced that nothing's easier than to play a part; no one dreamt of suspecting me. But there was one thing I had not thought of—one wants to make up some sort of story beforehand . . . they keep asking one—where you're from, and what you're doing—and you have nothing ready. However, even that's
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