“Oh, how different she was then!” he would sometimes say to me about Varvara Petrovna. “How different she was in the old days when we used to talk together.⁠ ⁠… Do you know that she could talk in those days! Can you believe that she had ideas in those days, original ideas! Now, everything has changed! She says all that’s only old-fashioned twaddle. She despises the past.⁠ ⁠… Now she’s like some shopman or cashier, she has grown hardhearted, and she’s always cross.⁠ ⁠…”

“Why is she cross now if you are carrying out her orders?” I answered.

He looked at me subtly.

“ Cher ami ; if I had not agreed she would have been dreadfully angry, dread‑ful‑ly! But yet less than now that I have consented.”