requirements of the respectable merchants, who confided their
children's education to Kolosov, were exceedingly limited. Kolosov was
neither a wit nor a humorist; but you cannot imagine how readily we all
fell under that fellow's sway. We felt a sort of instinctive admiration
of him; his words, his looks, his gestures were all so full of the
charm of youth that all his comrades were head over ears in love with
him. The professors considered him as a fairly intelligent lad, but 'of
no marked abilities,' and lazy.

Kolosov's presence gave a special harmony to our evening reunions.
Before him, our liveliness never passed into vulgar riotousness; if we
were all melancholy--this half childlike melancholy, in his presence,
led on to quiet, sometimes fairly sensible, conversation, and never
ended in dejected boredom. You are smiling, gentlemen--I understand
your smile; no doubt, many of us since then have turned out pretty
cads! But youth ... youth....'

'Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story!
The days of our youth are the days of our glory....'

commented the same pallid gentleman.

'By Jove, what a memory he's got! and all from Byron!' observed the
storyteller. 'In one word, Kolosov was the soul of our set. I was
attached to him by a feeling stronger than any I have ever felt for any
woman. And yet, I don't feel ashamed even now to remember that strange
love--yes, love it was, for I recollect I went through at that time all
the tortures of that passion, jealousy, for instance. Kolosov liked us
all equally, but was particularly friendly with a silent,
flaxen-haired, and unobtrusive youth, called Gavrilov. From Gavrilov he