left of his father's property, and his aunt helps him; but it all
comes to very little.'

'He must have a great deal of character,' observed Elena.

'Yes. He is a man of iron. And at the same time you will see there is
something childlike and frank, with all his concentration and even his
reserve. It's true, his frankness is not our poor sort of
frankness--the frankness of people who have absolutely nothing to
conceal. . . . But there, I will bring him to see you; wait a
little.'

'And isn't he shy?' asked Elena again.

'No, he's not shy. It's only vain people who are shy.'

'Why, are you vain?'

He was confused and made a vague gesture with his hands.

'You excite my curiosity,' pursued Elena. 'But tell me, has he not
taken vengeance on that Turkish aga?'

Bersenyev smiled

'Revenge is only to be found in novels, Elena Nikolaevna; and,
besides, in twelve years that aga may well be dead.'

'Mr. Insarov has never said anything, though, to you about it?'