“Look here, my good girl⁠ ⁠… sit down and listen. We must part! The fact is, I don’t want to live with you any longer.”

Anyuta had come back from the artist’s worn out and exhausted. Standing so long as a model had made her face look thin and sunken, and her chin sharper than ever. She said nothing in answer to the student’s words, only her lips began to tremble.

“You know we should have to part sooner or later, anyway,” said the student. “You’re a nice, good girl, and not a fool; you’ll understand.⁠ ⁠…”

Anyuta put on her coat again, in silence wrapped up her embroidery in paper, gathered together her needles and thread: she found the screw of paper with the four lumps of sugar in the window, and laid it on the table by the books.

“That’s⁠ ⁠… your sugar⁠ ⁠…” she said softly, and turned away to conceal her tears.

“Why are you crying?” asked Klotchkov.

He walked about the room in confusion, and said:

“You are a strange girl, really.⁠ ⁠… Why, you know we shall have to part. We can’t stay together forever.”

She had gathered together all her belongings, and turned to say goodbye to him, and he felt sorry for her.

“Shall I let her stay on here another week?” he thought. “She really may as well stay, and I’ll tell her to go in a week;” and vexed at his own weakness, he shouted to her roughly:

“Come, why are you standing there? If you are going, go; and if you don’t want to, take off your coat and stay! You can stay!”

Anyuta took off her coat, silently, stealthily, then blew her nose also stealthily, sighed, and noiselessly returned to her invariable position on her stool by the window.