He is a queer, naïve man, thought Nadya, and in all his dreams, in
all those marvellous gardens and wonderful fountains one felt there
was something absurd. But for some reason in his naïveté, in this
very absurdity there was something so beautiful that as soon as she
thought of the possibility of going to the university, it sent a
cold thrill through her heart and her bosom and flooded them with
joy and rapture.

"But better not think, better not think . . ." she whispered. "I
must not think of it."

"Tick-tock," tapped the watchman somewhere far away. "Tick-tock
. . . tick-tock. . . ."

III

In the middle of June Sasha suddenly felt bored and made up his
mind to return to Moscow.

"I can't exist in this town," he said gloomily. "No water supply,
no drains! It disgusts me to eat at dinner; the filth in the kitchen
is incredible. . . ."

"Wait a little, prodigal son!" Granny tried to persuade him, speaking
for some reason in a whisper, "the wedding is to be on the seventh."

"I don't want to."

"You meant to stay with us until September!"