had a friend ... what was his name? he had such a good-natured face ...
he was always reading poetry; such an enthusiastic--'

'Not Pasinkov?'

'Yes, yes, Pasinkov ... where is he now?'

'He is dead.'

'Dead?' repeated Sophia Nikolaevna; 'what a pity!...'

'Have I seen him?' the little girl asked in a hurried whisper.

'No, Lidia, you've never seen him.--What a pity!' repeated Sophia
Nikolaevna.

'You regret him ...' I began; 'what if you had known him, as I knew
him?... But, why did you speak of him, may I ask?'

'Oh, I don't know....' (Sophia Nikolaevna dropped her eyes.) 'Lidia,'
she added; 'run away to your nurse.'

'You'll call me when I may come back?' asked the little girl.

'Yes.'

The little girl went away. Sophia Nikolaevna turned to me.

'Tell me, please, all you know about Pasinkov.' I began telling her his
story. I sketched in brief words the whole life of my friend; tried, as