leave the monastery. Then I shall go back and finish my studies, and when you reach the legal age we will be married. I shall love you. Though I haven’t had time to think about it, I believe I couldn’t find a better wife than you, and Father Zossima tells me I must marry.”
“But I am a cripple, wheeled about in a chair,” laughed Lise, flushing crimson.
“I’ll wheel you about myself, but I’m sure you’ll get well by then.”
“But you are mad,” said Lise, nervously, “to make all this nonsense out of a joke! Here’s mamma, very apropos, perhaps. Mamma, how slow you always are, how can you be so long! And here’s Yulia with the ice!”
“Oh, Lise, don’t scream, above all things don’t scream. That scream drives me … How can I help it when you put the lint in another place? I’ve been