'Andrei Petrovitch,' interrupted Elena, 'excuse my ignorance, what
does that mean, a Schellingist?'

Bersenyev smiled slightly.

'A Schellingist means a follower of Schelling, a German philosopher;
and what the philosophy of Schelling consists in----'

'Andrei Petrovitch!' cried Shubin suddenly, 'for mercy's sake!
Surely you don't mean to give Elena Nikolaevna a lecture on Schelling?
Have pity on her!'

'Not a lecture at all,' murmured Bersenyev, turning crimson. 'I
meant----'

'And why not a lecture?' put in Elena. 'You and I are in need of
lectures, Pavel Yakovlitch.'

Shubin stared at her, and suddenly burst out laughing.

'What are you laughing at?' she said coldly, and almost sharply.

Shubin did not answer.

'Come, don't be angry,' he said, after a short pause. 'I am sorry.
But really it's a strange taste, upon my word, to discuss philosophy
in weather like this under these trees. Let us rather talk of
nightingales and roses, youthful eyes and smiles.'