“Fool! I asked if the young gentleman was at home.”
“He’s just gone into the study. He’s writing a letter!” replied Dounika, looking radiant, as if this letter were the reason for unusual rejoicing.
Maria Ivanovna looked hard at the girl, and an evil light flashed from her faded eyes.
“Toad! if you dare to fetch and carry letters again, I’ll give you a lesson that you’ll never forget.”
Sanine was seated at the table, writing. His mother was so little used to seeing him write, that, in spite of her grief, she was interested.
“What’s that you’re writing?”
“A letter,” replied Sanine, looking up, gaily.
“To whom?”
“Oh! to a journalist I know. I think of joining the staff of his paper.”
“So you write for the papers?”