Somebody in slippers was ascending the second flight of stairs.  Of course I felt curious to see who it was, but the footsteps ceased abruptly, and then I heard Masha’s voice say: 

“Go away!  What nonsense!  What would Maria Ivanovna think if she were to come now?”

“Oh, but she will not come,” answered Woloda’s voice in a whisper.

“Well, go away, you silly boy,” and Masha came running up, and fled past me.

I cannot describe the way in which this discovery confounded me.  Nevertheless the feeling of amazement soon gave place to a kind of sympathy with Woloda’s conduct.  I found myself wondering less at the conduct itself than at his ability to behave so agreeably.  Also, I found myself involuntarily desiring to imitate him.

Sometimes I would pace the landing for an hour at a time, with no other thought in my head than to watch for movements from above.  Yet, although I longed beyond all things to do as Woloda had done, I could not bring myself to the point.  At other times, filled with a sense of envious jealousy, I would conceal myself behind a door and listen to the sounds which came from the maidservants’ room, until the thought would occur to my mind, “How if I were to go in now and, like Woloda, kiss Masha?  What should I say when she asked me—­me with the huge nose and the tuft on the top of my head—­what I wanted?” Sometimes, too, I could hear her saying to Woloda,

“That serves you right!  Go away!  Nicolas Petrovitch never comes in here with such nonsense.”  Alas! she did not know that Nicolas Petrovitch was sitting on the staircase just below and feeling that he would give all he possessed to be in “that bold fellow Woloda’s” place!  I was shy by nature, and rendered worse in that respect by a consciousness of my own ugliness.  I am certain that nothing so much influences the development of a man as his exterior—­though the exterior itself less than his belief in its plainness or beauty.

Yet I was too conceited altogether to resign myself to my fate.  I tried to comfort myself much as the fox did when he declared that the grapes were sour.  That is to say, I tried to make light of the satisfaction to be gained from making such use of a pleasing exterior as I believed Woloda to employ (satisfaction which I nevertheless envied him from my heart), and endeavoured with every faculty of my intellect and imagination to console myself with a pride in my isolation.

VII.  SMALL SHOT

“Good gracious!  Powder!” exclaimed Mimi in a voice trembling with alarm.  “Whatever are you doing?  You will set the house on fire in a moment, and be the death of us all!” Upon that, with an indescribable expression of firmness, Mimi ordered every one to stand aside, and, regardless of all possible danger from a premature explosion, strode with long and resolute steps to where some small shot was scattered about the floor, and began to trample upon it.