behind the rounded tops of the lime trees. Nejdanov lit a candle;
a grey moth fluttered in from the dark garden straight to the
flame; she circled round it, whilst a gentle breeze from without
blew on them both, disturbing the yellow-bluish flame of the
candle.

"How strange!" Nejdanov thought, lying in bed; "they seem good,
liberal-minded people, even humane . . . but I feel so troubled
in my heart. This chamberlain . Kollomietzev. . . . However,
morning is wiser than evening . . . It's no good being
sentimental."

At this moment the watchman knocked loudly with his stick and
called out, "I say there--"

"Take care," answered another doleful voice. "Fugh! Heavens! It's
like being in prison!" Nejdanov exclaimed.

VIII

NEJDANOV awoke early and, without waiting for a servant, dressed
and went out into the garden. It was very large and beautiful
this garden, and well kept. Hired labourers were scraping the
paths with their spades, through the bright green shrubs a
glimpse of kerchiefs could be seen on the heads of the peasant
girls armed with rakes. Nejdanov wandered down to the pond; the
early morning mist had already lifted, only a few curves in its
banks still remained in obscurity. The sun, not yet far above the
horizon, threw a rosy light over the steely silkiness of its
broad surface. Five carpenters were busy about the raft, a newly-