holding the candle in her hand; patches of light danced over her
face and neck, as though chasing her mournful smile. I pictured to
myself the old Kisotchka whom one used to want to stroke like a
cat, I looked intently at the present Kisotchka, and for some reason
recalled her words: 'Everyone ought to bear the lot that fate has
laid on him.' And I had a pang at my heart. I instinctively guessed
how it was, and my conscience whispered to me that I, in my happiness
and indifference, was face to face with a good, warm-hearted, loving
creature, who was broken by suffering.

"I said good-bye and went to the gate. By now it was quite dark.
In the south the evenings draw in early in July and it gets dark
rapidly. Towards ten o'clock it is so dark that you can't see an
inch before your nose. I lighted a couple of dozen matches before,
almost groping, I found my way to the gate.

"'Cab!' I shouted, going out of the gate; not a sound, not a sigh
in answer. . . . 'Cab,' I repeated, 'hey, Cab!'

"But there was no cab of any description. The silence of the grave.
I could hear nothing but the murmur of the drowsy sea and the beating
of my heart from the wine. Lifting my eyes to the sky I found not
a single star. It was dark and sullen. Evidently the sky was covered
with clouds. For some reason I shrugged my shoulders, smiling
foolishly, and once more, not quite so resolutely, shouted for a
cab.

"The echo answered me. A walk of three miles across open country
and in the pitch dark was not an agreeable prospect. Before making
up my mind to walk, I spent a long time deliberating and shouting