as he laughed.... I can imagine the moments she passed with Andrei, the
raptures she owed to him.... While he ... Kolosov did not lose his
freedom; in her absence he did not, I suppose, even think of her; he
was still the same unconcerned, gay, and happy fellow we had always
known him.

And, as I have already told you, we used, Kolosov and I, to go pretty
often to Ivan Semyonitch's. Sometimes, when he was out of humour, the
retired lieutenant did not make me sit down to cards; on such
occasions, he would shrink into a corner in silence, scowling and
looking crossly at every one. The first time I was delighted at his
letting me off so easily; but afterwards I would sometimes begin myself
begging him to sit down to whist, the part of third person was so
insupportable! I was so unpleasantly in Kolosov's and Varia's way,
though they did assure each other that there was no need to mind me!...

Meanwhile time went on.... They were happy.... I have no great fondness
for describing other people's happiness. But then I began to notice
that Varia's childish ecstasy had gradually given way to a more
womanly, more restless feeling. I began to surmise that the new song
was being sung to the old tune--that is, that Kolosov was...little by
little...cooling. This discovery, I must own, delighted me; I did not
feel, I must confess, the slightest indignation against Andrei.

The intervals between our visits became longer and longer.... Varia
began to meet us with tear-stained eyes. Reproaches were heard ...
Sometimes I asked Kolosov with affected indifference, 'Well, shall we
go to Ivan Semyonitch's to-day?' ... He looked coldly at me, and
answered quietly, 'No, we're not going.' I sometimes fancied that he
smiled slily when he spoke to me of Varia.... I failed generally to