‘Now, then, you must talk to the gentleman,’ said Madam Milovidov, getting up heavily: ‘he’s taken trouble enough, he’s come all the way from Moscow on purpose—he wants to collect information about Katia. And will you, my good sir,’ she added, addressing Aratov—‘excuse me ... I’m going to look after my housekeeping. You can get a very good account of everything from Annotchka; she will tell you about the theatre ... and all the rest of it. She is a clever girl, well educated: speaks French, and reads books, as well as her sister did. One may say indeed she gave her her education ... she was older—and so she looked after it.’
Madame Milovidov withdrew. On being left alone with Anna Semyonovna, Aratov repeated his speech to her; but realising at the first glance that he had to do with a really cultivated girl, not a typical tradesman’s daughter, he went a little more into particulars and made use of different expressions; but towards the end he grew agitated, flushed and felt that his heart was throbbing. Anna listened to him in silence, her hands folded on her lap; a mournful smile never left her face ... bitter grief, still fresh in its poignancy, was expressed in that smile.
‘You knew my sister?’ she asked Aratov.
‘No, I did not actually know her,’ he answered. ‘I met her and heard her once ... but one need only hear and see your sister once to ...’
‘Do you wish to write her biography?’ Anna questioned him again.
Aratov had not expected this inquiry; however, he replied promptly, ‘Why not? But above all, I wanted to acquaint the public ...’
Anna stopped him by a motion of her hand.
‘What is the object of that? The public caused her plenty of suffering as it is; and indeed Katia had only just begun life. But if you yourself—(Anna looked at him and smiled again a smile as mournful but more friendly ... as though she were saying to herself, Yes, you make me feel I can trust you) ... if you yourself feel such interest in her, let me ask you to come and see us this afternoon ... after dinner. I can’t just now ... so suddenly ... I will collect my strength ... I will make an effort ... Ah, I loved her too much!’
Anna turned away; she was on the point of bursting into sobs.
Aratov rose hurriedly from his seat, thanked her for her offer, said he should be sure ... oh, very sure!—to come—and went off, carrying away with him an impression of a soft voice, gentle and sorrowful eyes, and burning in the tortures of expectation.