“So the other day I sent my parents a tearful letter; I thought maybe they’d send me something. For I’ve been told I went against my parents. I was disrespectful to them! It’s seven years since I sent it to them.”

“And haven’t you had an answer?” I asked laughing.

“No, I haven’t,” he answered suddenly laughing too, bringing his nose nearer and nearer to my face. “And I’ve a sweetheart here, Alexandr Petrovitch⁠ ⁠…”

“Have you? A sweetheart?”

“Onufriev said the other day: ‘My girl may be pockmarked and plain, but look what a lot of clothes she’s got; and yours may be pretty, but she is a beggar and goes about with a sack on her back.’ ”

“And is it true?”