Assja blushed as I entered the room. I observed that she had again dressed herself with great care, but the expression of her face did not correspond with her finery; it was melancholy. And I had come so happily disposed! I believe that she was inclined to run away in her usual fashion, but forcibly compelled herself to remain. I found Gagin in that peculiar mood of artistic enthusiasm which catches dilettanti by surprise whenever they imagine themselves about to take nature by storm, as they express it. He stood with hair disordered, and bedaubed with paint, before a fresh canvas, drawing madly. Furiously he nodded to me, stepped backward, half closed his eyes, and then precipitated himself again upon his work. I did not like to disturb him, and sat down beside Assja. Slowly her dark eyes turned on me.
"You are not as you were yesterday," I ventured, after I had made some vain attempts to bring a smile to her lips.
"No, I am not," she replied, with a slow, suppressed voice. "But that is nothing. I did not sleep well. I was thinking the whole night."
"About what?"
"Oh, I thought about many things. It has been my habit from childhood, even when I was living with my mother."
She spoke this with a certain emphasis, and repeated it.
"When I was living with my mother I—I wondered why no one can know beforehand what is to happen to him. Sometimes one sees a misfortune coming, and yet cannot turn away from it; and why cannot one always say boldly the truth? Then I thought that I do not know anything, and that I must learn. I must be educated over again. I have been very badly brought up. I do not know how to play the piano, I cannot draw, I sew dreadfully; I have no capacity; I must be very tiresome."
"You are unjust to yourself," I answered. "You have read much, you are cultivated, and with your intellect——"
"Have I an intellect?" she asked with such naïve curiosity that I could not help laughing. She did not laugh.
"Brother, have I an intellect?" she asked Gagin.