of those impromptu affairs to which tourists are so prone--was
not easy and, indeed, hardly possible. I felt that as I gazed at
her face. The way she looked, and the expression of her face,
suggested that the sea, the smoke in the distance, and the sky had
bored her long, long ago, and wearied her sight. She seemed to be
tired, bored, and thinking about something dreary, and her face had
not even that fussy, affectedly indifferent expression which one
sees in the face of almost every woman when she is conscious of the
presence of an unknown man in her vicinity.

"The fair-haired lady took a bored and passing glance at me, sat
down on a seat and sank into reverie, and from her face I saw that
she had no thoughts for me, and that I, with my Petersburg appearance,
did not arouse in her even simple curiosity. But yet I made up my
mind to speak to her, and asked: 'Madam, allow me to ask you at
what time do the waggonettes go from here to the town?'

"'At ten or eleven, I believe. . . .'"

"I thanked her. She glanced at me once or twice, and suddenly there
was a gleam of curiosity, then of something like wonder on her
passionless face. . . . I made haste to assume an indifferent
expression and to fall into a suitable attitude; she was catching
on! She suddenly jumped up from the seat, as though something had
bitten her, and examining me hurriedly, with a gentle smile, asked
timidly:

"'Oh, aren't you Ananyev?'

"'Yes, I am Ananyev,' I answered.