account of everything from Annotchka; she will tell you about the theatre . . . and all the rest of it. She is a clever girl, well educated: speaks French, and reads books, as well as her sister did. One may say indeed she gave her her education . . . she was older — and so she looked after it'
Madame Milovidov withdrew. On being left alone with Anna Semyonovna, Aratov repeated his speech to her; but realising at the first glance that he had to do with a really cultivated girl, not a typical tradesman's daughter, he went a little more into particulars and made use of different expressions; but towards the end he grew agitated, flushed and felt that his heart was throbbing. Anna listened to him in silence, her hands folded on her lap; a mournful smile never left her face . . . bitter grief, still fresh in its poignancy, was expressed in that smile.
'You knew my sister?' she asked Aratov.
'No, I did not actually know her,' he answered. 'I met her and heard her once . . . but one need only hear and see your sister once to . . .'
'Do you wish to write her biography?' Anna questioned him again.
Aratov had not expected this inquiry; however, he replied promptly, 'Why not? But above all, I wanted to acquaint the public . . .'
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