"You are losing your book, madam!" I could hear my heart beat audibly as I
said it.

"My book?" she asks her companion, and she walks on.

My devilment waxed apace, and I followed them. At the same time, I was
fully conscious that I was playing a mad prank without being able to stop
myself. My disordered condition ran away with me; I was inspired with the
craziest notions, which I followed blindly as they came to me. I couldn't
help it, no matter how much I told myself that I was playing the fool. I
made the most idiotic grimaces behind the lady's back, and coughed
frantically as I passed her by. Walking on in this manner--very slowly,
and always a few steps in advance--I felt her eyes on my back, and
involuntarily put down my head with shame for having caused her annoyance.
By degrees, a wonderful feeling stole over me of being far, far away in
other places; I had a half-undefined sense that it was not I who was going
along over the gravel hanging my head.

A few minutes later, they reached Pascha's bookshop. I had already stopped
at the first window, and as they go by I step forward and repeat:

"You are losing your book, madam!"

"No; what book?" she asks affrightedly. "Can you make out what book it is
he is talking about?" and she comes to a stop.

I hug myself with delight at her confusion; the irresolute perplexity in
her eyes positively fascinates me. Her mind cannot grasp my short,
passionate address. She has no book with her; not a single page of a book,
and yet she fumbles in her pockets, looks down repeatedly at her hands,