but have a fatal ending. I am not to blame if something terrible
happens. I allow no one to make a laughing stock of me, and, God
knows, when I am furious, I advise nobody to come near me, damn it
all! There's nothing I might not do! One of the young ladies,
probably noticing from my face what a rage I am in, and anxious to
propitiate me, says:

"I did exactly what you told me, Nikolay Andreitch; I watched the
animals. I saw the grey dog chasing the cat just before the eclipse,
and wagging his tail for a long while afterwards."

So nothing came of the eclipse after all.

I go home. Thanks to the rain, I work indoors instead of on the
balcony. The wounded officer has risked it, and has again got as
far as "I was born in . . ." when I see one of the variegated young
ladies pounce down on him and bear him off to her villa.

I cannot work, for I am still in a fury and suffering from palpitation
of the heart. I do not go to the arbour. It is impolite not to,
but, after all, I can't be expected to go in the rain.

At twelve o'clock I receive a letter from Mashenka, a letter full
of reproaches and entreaties to go to the arbour, addressing me as
"thou." At one o'clock I get a second letter, and at two, a third
. . . . I must go. . . . But before going I must consider what I am
to say to her. I will behave like a gentleman.

To begin with, I will tell her that she is mistaken in supposing
that I am in love with her. That's a thing one does not say to a