I read the Æneid with him. It's a dull thing, but there are fine passages. Do you remember when Dido and Æneas are in the forest? . . .'
'Yes, yes, I remember,' Sanin answered hurriedly. He had long ago forgotten all his Latin, and had only very faint notions about the Æneid.
Maria Nikolaevna glanced at him, as her way was, a little from one side and looking upwards. 'Don't imagine, though, that I am very learned. Mercy on us! no; I 'm not learned, and I've no talents of any sort. I scarcely know how to write . . . really; I can't read aloud; nor play the piano, nor draw, nor sew—nothing! That's what I am—there you have me!'
She threw out her hands. 'I tell you all this,' she said, 'first, so as not to hear those fools (she pointed to the stage where at that instant the actor's place was being filled by an actress, also howling, and also with her elbows projecting before her) and secondly, because I 'm in your debt; you told me all about yourself yesterday.'
'It was your pleasure to question me,' observed Sanin.
Maria Nikolaevna suddenly turned to him. 'And it's not your pleasure to know just what
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