She could not make out what she had written through her tears; little rainbows were quivering on the table, on the floor, on the ceiling, as though she were looking through a prism.  She could not write, she sank back in her easy-chair and fell to thinking of Gorny.

My God! how interesting, how fascinating men were!  Nadya recalled the fine expression, ingratiating, guilty, and soft, which came into the officer’s face when one argued about music with him, and the effort he made to prevent his voice from betraying his passion.  In a society where cold haughtiness and indifference are regarded as signs of good breeding and gentlemanly bearing, one must conceal one’s passions.  And he did try to conceal them, but he did not succeed, and everyone knew very well that he had a passionate love of music.  The endless discussions about music and the bold criticisms of people who knew nothing about it kept him always on the strain; he was frightened, timid, and silent.  He played the piano magnificently, like a professional pianist, and if he had not been in the army he would certainly have been a famous musician.

The tears on her eyes dried.  Nadya remembered that Gorny had declared his love at a Symphony concert, and again downstairs by the hatstand where there was a tremendous draught blowing in all directions.

“I am very glad that you have at last made the acquaintance of Gruzdev, our student friend,” she went on writing.  “He is a very clever man, and you will be sure to like him.  He came to see us yesterday and stayed till two o’clock.  We were all delighted with him, and I regretted that you had not come.  He said a great deal that was remarkable.”

Nadya laid her arms on the table and leaned her head on them, and her hair covered the letter.  She recalled that the student, too, loved her, and that he had as much right to a letter from her as Gorny.  Wouldn’t it be better after all to write to Gruzdev?  There was a stir of joy in her bosom for no reason whatever; at first the joy was small, and rolled in her bosom like an india-rubber ball; then it became more massive, bigger, and rushed like a wave.  Nadya forgot Gorny and Gruzdev; her thoughts were in a tangle and her joy grew and grew; from her bosom it passed into her arms and legs, and it seemed as though a light, cool breeze were breathing on her head and ruffling her hair.  Her shoulders quivered with subdued laughter, the table and the lamp chimney shook, too, and tears from her eyes splashed on the letter.  She could not stop laughing, and to prove to herself that she was not laughing about nothing she made haste to think of something funny.

“What a funny poodle,” she said, feeling as though she would choke with laughter.  “What a funny poodle!”

She thought how, after tea the evening before, Gruzdev had played with Maxim the poodle, and afterwards had told them about a very intelligent poodle who had run after a crow in the yard, and the crow had looked round at him and said:  “Oh, you scamp!”