'Well, we shall see what you will say when you do get nicely burnt one
day,' Mihailo Mihailitch interrupted her in a tone of vexation and
made a cut at the horse with the reins, 'Good-bye.'

'Mihailo Mihailitch, stop a minute!' cried Alexandra Pavlovna, 'when
are you coming to see us?'

'To-morrow; my greetings to your brother.'

And the droshky rolled away.

Alexandra Pavlovna looked after Mihailo Mihailitch.

'What a sack!' she thought. Sitting huddled up and covered with dust,
his cap on the back of his head and tufts of flaxen hair straggling
from beneath it, he looked strikingly like a huge sack of flour.

Alexandra Pavlovna turned tranquilly back along the path homewards.
She was walking with downcast eyes. The tramp of a horse near made her
stop and raise her head. . . . Her brother had come on horseback to
meet her; beside him was walking a young man of medium height, wearing
a light open coat, a light tie, and a light grey hat, and carrying a
cane in his hand. He had been smiling for a long time at Alexandra
Pavlovna, even though he saw that she was absorbed in thought and
noticing nothing, and when she stopped he went up to her and in a tone
of delight, almost of emotion, cried:

'Good-morning, Alexandra Pavlovna, good-morning!'