When we got home Byelokurov sat down on the sofa and frowned thoughtfully, and I began walking up and down the room, conscious of a soft emotion as though I were in love. I wanted to talk about the Voltchaninovs.

‘Lida could only fall in love with a member of the Zemstvo, as devoted to schools and hospitals as she is,’ I said. ‘Oh, for the sake of a girl like that one might not only go into the Zemstvo, but even wear out iron shoes, like the girl in the fairy tale. And Misuce? What a sweet creature she is, that Misuce!’

Byelokurov, drawling out ‘Er—er’, began a long-winded disquisition on the malady of the age—pessimism. He talked confidently, in a tone that suggested that I was opposing him. Hundreds of miles of desolate, monotonous, burst-up steppe cannot induce such deep depression as one man when he sits and talks, and one does not know when he will go.

‘It’s not a question of pessimism or optimism,’ I said irritably; ‘it’s simply that ninety-nine people out of a hundred have no sense.’

Byelokurov took this as aimed at himself, was offended, and went away.

III

‘The prince is staying at Malozyomovo, and he asks to be remembered to you,’ said Lida to her mother. She had just come in, and was taking off her gloves. ‘He gave me a great deal of interesting news.…He promised to raise the question of a medical relief centre at Malozyomovo again at the provincial assembly, but he says there is very little hope of it.’ And turning to me, she said: ‘Excuse me, I always forget that this cannot be interesting to you.’

I felt irritated.

‘Why not interesting to me?’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. ‘You do not care to know my opinion, but I assure you the question has great interest for me.’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes. In my opinion a medical relief centre at Malozyomovo is quite unnecessary.’

My irritation infected her; she looked at me, screwing up her eyes, and asked:

‘What is necessary? Landscapes?’

‘Landscapes are not, either. Nothing is.’

She finished taking off her gloves, and opened the newspaper, which had just been brought from the post. A minute later she said quietly, evidently restraining herself:

‘Last week Anna died in childbirth, and if there had been a medical relief centre near, she would have lived. And I think even landscape painters ought to have some opinions on the subject.’

‘I have a very definite opinion on that subject, I assure you,’ I answered; and she screened herself with the newspaper, as though unwilling to listen to me. ‘To my mind, all these schools, dispensaries, libraries, medical relief centres, under present conditions, only serve to aggravate the bondage of the people. The peasants are fettered by a great chain, and you do not break the chain, but only add fresh links to it—that’s my view of it.’

She raised her eyes to me and smiled ironically, and I went on trying to formulate my leading idea.