about university life, and his own plans and hopes; Shubin listened
without speaking, ate with an exaggerated show of greediness, and now
and then threw comic glances of despair at Zoya, who responded always
with the same phlegmatic smile. After dinner, Elena with Bersenyev and
Shubin went into the garden; Zoya looked after them, and, with a
slight shrug of her shoulders, sat down to the piano. Anna Vassilyevna
began: 'Why don't you go for a walk, too?' but, without waiting
for a reply, she added: 'Play me something melancholy.'

'_La derniere pensee de Weber_?' suggested Zoya.

'Ah, yes, Weber,' replied Anna Vassilyevna. She sank into an easy
chair, and the tears started on to her eyelashes.

Meanwhile, Elena led the two friends to an arbour of acacias, with a
little wooden table in the middle, and seats round. Shubin looked
round, and, whispering 'Wait a minute!' he ran off, skipping and
hopping to his own room, brought back a piece of clay, and began
modelling a bust of Zoya, shaking his head and muttering and laughing
to himself.

'At his old tricks again,' observed Elena, glancing at his work. She
turned to Bersenyev, with whom she was continuing the conversation
begun at dinner.

'My old tricks!' repeated Shubin. 'It's a subject that's simply
inexhaustible! To-day, particularly, she drove me out of all
patience.'

'Why so?' inquired Elena. 'One would think you were speaking of