About an hour passed. The green light went out, and the shadows were no longer visible. The moon was standing high above the house, and lighting up the sleeping garden and the paths; the dahlias and the roses in front of the house could be seen distinctly, and looked all the same colour. It began to grow very cold. I went out of the garden, picked up my coat on the road, and slowly sauntered home.

When next day after dinner I went to the Voltchaninovs, the glass door into the garden was wide open. I sat down on the terrace, expecting Genya every minute, to appear from behind the flowerbeds on the lawn, or from one of the avenues, or that I should hear her voice from the house. Then I walked into the drawing room, the dining room. There was not a soul to be seen. From the dining room I walked along the long corridor to the hall and back. In this corridor there were several doors, and through one of them I heard the voice of Lida:

“ ‘God⁠ ⁠… sent⁠ ⁠… a crow,’ ” she said in a loud, emphatic voice, probably dictating⁠—“ ‘God sent a crow a piece of cheese.⁠ ⁠… A crow⁠ ⁠… a piece of cheese.’⁠ ⁠… Who’s there?” she called suddenly, hearing my steps.

“It’s I.”

“Ah! Excuse me, I cannot come out to you this minute; I’m giving Dasha her lesson.”

“Is Ekaterina Pavlovna in the garden?”

“No, she went away with my sister this morning to our aunt in the province of Penza. And in the winter they will probably go abroad,” she added after a pause. “ ‘God sent⁠ ⁠… the crow⁠ ⁠… a piece⁠ ⁠… of cheese.’⁠ ⁠… Have you written it?”

I went into the hall, and stared vacantly at the pond and the village, and the sound reached me of “A piece of cheese.⁠ ⁠… God sent the crow a piece of cheese.”

And I went back by the way I had come here for the first time⁠—first from the yard into the garden past the house, then into the avenue of lime trees.⁠ ⁠… At this point I was overtaken by a small boy who gave me a note: