voice, and manner had changed but little, yet something strange and
new, and riper in his whole personality gave a light to his countenance
and endowed it with an altered expression. It was in the evening that
he came home, entering the room as quietly as if he had only left it
five minutes before. As he stood there, tall, fair, and broad-
shouldered, his calm face with its slightly mocking expression at the
corners of the mouth showed not a sign of fatigue or of emotion, and
the boisterous greeting of his mother and sister subsided of itself.

While he was eating, and drinking tea, his sister, sitting opposite,
gazed steadfastly at him. She was in love with him, as most romantic
girls usually are with their absent brother. Lida had always imagined
Vladimir to be an extraordinary person, as strange as any to be found
in books. She pictured his life as one of tragic conflict, sad and
lonely as that of some great, uncomprehended soul.

"Why do you look at me like that?" asked Sanine, smiling.

This quiet smile and searching glance formed his usual expression, but,
strange to say, they did not please Lida. To her, they seemed self-
complacent, revealing nought of spiritual suffering and strife. She
looked away and was silent. Then, mechanically, she kept turning over
the pages of a book.

When the meal was at an end, Sanine's mother patted his head
affectionately, and said:

"Now, tell us all about your life, and what you did there."

"What I did?" said Sanine, laughing. "Well, I ate, and drank, and