There was a knock at the door, and a voice asked: "Vyera, may I come in?"
"Come in! come in! Ilya Jakovlevitsch, this is my friend, Lipa."
Ilya rose from his chair, and turned towards the door. A tall, stately woman stood before him, and looked in his face with calm blue eyes. From her dress came a sweet perfume, her cheeks were fresh and red, and her head was adorned with a crown-like mass of hair that made her look even taller.
"I was sitting alone in my room, so bored, and then, all at once I heard you talking and laughing, and so—well, I came here. You don't mind I hope? There's a gentleman without a lady. I will entertain him—shall I?"
With a graceful gesture, she placed her chair near Ilya's, seated herself, and asked: "You're rather bored with them, aren't you? They kiss and hug one another, and you're envious, eh?"
"I'm not bored with them," said Ilya, confused by feeling her so near.
"That's a pity," she said quietly, then turned from Ilya and went over to Vyera.
"Just think, I went to Mass yesterday at the nunnery, and I saw such a pretty nun in the choir, such a dear. I couldn't take my eyes off her, and thought why on earth did she go into the nunnery. I felt quite sorry."
"Why? I shouldn't pity her," said Vyera.
"Oh! Who's going to believe that!"