to the window and looked out into the garden. It was an old-
fashioned garden, with rich dark soil, such as one rarely sees
around Moscow, laid out on the slope of a hill into four separate
parts. In front of the house there was a flower garden, with
straight gravel paths, groups of acacias and lilac, and round
flower beds. To the left, past the stable yard, as far down as
the barn, there was an orchard, thickly planted with apples,
pears, plums, currants, and raspberries. Beyond the flower
garden, in front of the house, there was a large square walk,
thickly enterlaced with lime trees. To the right, the view was
shut out by an avenue of silver poplars; a glimpse of an orangery
could be seen through a group of weeping willows. The whole
garden was clothed in its first green leaves; the loud buzz of
summer insects was not yet heard; the leaves rustled gently,
chaffinches twittered everywhere; two doves sat cooing on a tree;
the note of a solitary cuckoo was heard first in one place, then
in another; the friendly cawing of rooks was carried from the
distance beyond the mill pond, sounding like the creaking of
innumerable cart wheels. Light clouds floated dreamily over this
gentle stillness, spreading themselves out like the breasts of
some huge,lazy birds.

Nejdanov gazed and listened, drinking in the cool air through
half-parted lips.

His depression left him and a wonderful calmness entered his
soul.

Meanwhile he was being discussed in the bedroom below. Sipiagin
was telling his wife how he had met him, what Prince G. had said