There's another problem for you, philosopher!'

But as before, the 'philosopher' made no reply. Bersenyev did not in
general err on the side of talkativeness, and when he did speak, he
expressed himself awkwardly, with hesitation, and unnecessary
gesticulation. And at this time a kind of special stillness had fallen
on his soul, a stillness akin to lassitude and melancholy. He had not
long come from town after prolonged hard work, which had absorbed him
for many hours every day. The inactivity, the softness and purity of
the air, the consciousness of having attained his object, the
whimsical and careless talk of his friend, and the image--so suddenly
called up--of one dear to him, all these impressions different--yet at
the same time in a way akin--were mingled in him into a single vague
emotion, which at once soothed and excited him, and robbed him of his
power. He was a very highly strung young man.

It was cool and peaceful under the lime-tree; the flies and bees
seemed to hum more softly as they flitted within its circle of shade.
The fresh fine grass, of purest emerald green, without a tinge of
gold, did not quiver, the tall flower stalks stood motionless, as
though enchanted. On the lower twigs of the lime-tree the little
bunches of yellow flowers hung still as death. At every breath a sweet
fragrance made its way to the very depths of the lungs, and eagerly
the lungs inhaled it. Beyond the river in the distance, right up to the
horizon, all was bright and glowing. At times a slight breeze passed
over, breaking up the landscape and intensifying the brightness; a
sunlit vapour hung over the fields. No sound came from the birds; they
do not sing in the heat of noonday; but the grasshoppers were chirping
everywhere, and it was pleasant as they sat in the cool and quietness,
to hear that hot, eager sound of life; it disposed to slumber and