the tiniest part of what he himself saw in the picture, agitated him to the depths of his soul. He always attributed to his judges a more profound comprehension than he had himself, and always expected from them something he did not himself see in the picture. And often in their criticisms he fancied that he found this.

He walked rapidly to the door of his studio, and in spite of his excitement he was struck by the soft light on Anna's figure as she stood in the shade of the entrance listening to Golenishchev, who was eagerly telling her something, while she evidently wanted to look round at the artist. He was himself unconscious how, as he approached them, he seized on this impression and absorbed it, as he had the chin of the shopkeeper who had sold him the cigars, and put it away somewhere to be brought out when he wanted it. The visitors, not agreeably impressed beforehand by Golenishchev's account of the artist, were still less so by his personal appearance. Thickset and of middle height, with nimble movements, with his brown hat, olive-green coat and narrow trousers - though wide trousers had been a long while in fashion - most of all, with the ordinariness of his broad face, and the combined expression of timidity and anxiety to keep up his dignity, Mikhailov made an unpleasant impression.

`Please step in,' he said, trying to look indifferent, and going into the passage he took a key out of his pocket and opened the door.