“Are you saying that about Katya?” she asked, as soon as Aratoff ceased speaking.

“Exactly so ... about your daughter.”

“And you have come from Moscow for that purpose?”

“Yes, from Moscow.”

“Merely for that?”

“Merely for that.”

Madame Milovidoff suddenly took fright.—­“Why, you—­are an author?  Do you write in the newspapers?”

“No, I am not an author,—­and up to the present time, I have never written for the newspapers.”

The widow bent her head.  She was perplexed.

“Consequently ... it is for your own pleasure?” she suddenly inquired.  Aratoff did not immediately hit upon the proper answer.

“Out of sympathy, out of reverence for talent,” he said at last.

The word “reverence” pleased Madame Milovidoff.  “Very well!” she ejaculated with a sigh....  “Although I am her mother, and grieved very greatly over her....  It was such a catastrophe, you know!...  Still, I must say, that she was always a crazy sort of girl, and ended up in the same way!  Such a disgrace....  Judge for yourself:  what sort of a thing is that for a mother?  We may be thankful that they even buried her in Christian fashion....”  Madame Milovidoff crossed herself.—­“From the time she was a small child she submitted to no one,—­she abandoned the paternal roof ... and finally, it is enough to say that she became an actress!  Every one knows that I did not turn her out of the house; for I loved her!  For I am her mother, all the same!  She did not have to live with strangers,—­and beg alms!...”  Here the widow melted into tears.—­“But if you, sir,” she began afresh, wiping her eyes with the ends of her kerchief, “really have that intention, and if you will not concoct anything dishonourable about us,—­but if, on the contrary, you wish to show us a favour,—­then you had better talk with my other daughter.  She will tell you everything better than I can....”  “Annotchka!” called Madame Milovidoff:—­“Annotchka, come hither!  There’s some gentleman or other from Moscow who wants to talk about Katya!”

There was a crash in the adjoining room, but no one appeared.—­“Annotchka!” cried the widow again—­“Anna Semyonovna! come hither, I tell thee!”

The door opened softly and on the threshold appeared a girl no longer young, of sickly aspect, and homely, but with very gentle and sorrowful eyes.  Aratoff rose from his seat to greet her, and introduced himself, at the same time mentioning his friend Kupfer.—­“Ah!  Feodor Feodoritch!” ejaculated the girl softly, as she softly sank down on a chair.

“Come, now, talk with the gentleman,” said Madame Milovidoff, rising ponderously from her seat:  “He has taken the trouble to come expressly from Moscow,—­he wishes to collect information about Katya.  But you must excuse me, sir,” she added, turning to Aratoff....  “I shall go away, to attend to domestic affairs.  You can have a good explanation with Annotchka—­she will tell you about the theatre ... and all that sort of thing.  She’s my clever, well-educated girl:  she speaks French and reads books quite equal to her dead sister.  And she educated her sister, I may say....  She was the elder—­well, and so she taught her.”