were my mistakes, and many things which would have made me wince
in old days move me to tenderness and even rapture. The explanation
of this forgiveness of everything lies in my love for Sasha, but
what is the explanation of the love itself, I really don't know.


LIGHTS

THE dog was barking excitedly outside. And Ananyev the engineer,
his assistant called Von Schtenberg, and I went out of the hut to
see at whom it was barking. I was the visitor, and might have
remained indoors, but I must confess my head was a little dizzy
from the wine I had drunk, and I was glad to get a breath of fresh
air.

"There is nobody here," said Ananyev when we went out. "Why are you
telling stories, Azorka? You fool!"

There was not a soul in sight.

"The fool," Azorka, a black house-dog, probably conscious of his
guilt in barking for nothing and anxious to propitiate us, approached
us, diffidently wagging his tail. The engineer bent down and touched
him between his ears.

"Why are you barking for nothing, creature?" he said in the tone
in which good-natured people talk to children and dogs. "Have you
had a bad dream or what? Here, doctor, let me commend to your
attention," he said, turning to me, "a wonderfully nervous subject!
Would you believe it, he can't endure solitude--he is always