At Nikolskoe Katya and Arkady were sitting in the garden on a turf seat in the shade of a tall ash tree; Fifi had placed herself on the ground near them, giving her long body that graceful curve which is known among sportsmen as the “hare’s bend.” Both Arkady and Katya were silent; he held in his hands a half-open book, while she was picking out of a basket some remaining crumbs of white bread and throwing them to the small family of sparrows which with their peculiar cowardly impudence were chirping and hopping around right up to her feet. A faint breeze, stirring the ash leaves, kept gently moving pale gold patches of sunlight up and down across the shady path and over Fifi’s back; an unbroken shadow fell on Arkady and Katya; only from time to time a bright streak gleamed in her hair. Both were silent, but the way in which they were silent and sitting together indicated a certain confidential friendliness; each of them seemed not to be thinking of the other, while secretly rejoicing at each other’s presence. Their faces, too, had changed since we saw them last; Arkady seemed more composed and Katya brighter and more self-confident.

“Don’t you think,” began Arkady, “that the ash has been very well named in Russian Yasen;not a single other tree is so light and translucently clear (yasno) against the sky.”

Katya raised her eyes upwards and murmured, “Yes,” and Arkady thought, “Well, she doesn’t reproach me for talking poetically.”

“I don’t care for Heine,” said Katya, glancing at the book which Arkady held in his hands, “either when he laughs or when he weeps. I like him when he is thoughtful and sad.”

“And I like him when he laughs,” remarked Arkady.

“Those are the relics of your old satirical tendency.” (“Relics,” thought Arkady. “If Bazarov could have heard that!”) “Wait a bit; we shall transform you.

“Who will transform me? You?”

“Who? My sister, Porfiry Platonovich, whom you’ve stopped quarreling with, my aunt, whom you escorted to church the day before yesterday.”

“Well, I couldn’t refuse. But, as for Anna Sergeyevna, you remember she agreed with Evgeny in a great many things.”

“My sister was under his influence then, just as you were.”

“As I was! Have you noticed that I’ve already shaken off his influence?”

Katya remained silent.

“I know,” continued Arkady, “you never liked him.”

“I’m unable to judge him.”

“Do you know, Katerina Sergeyevna, every time I hear that answer, I don’t believe it . . . there is no one beyond the capacity of judgment of any of us! That is just a pretext for getting out of it.”

“Well, I’ll tell you then, he is . . . not because I don’t like him, but I feel he is quite alien to me, and I am alien to him . . . and you too are alien to him.”

“Why is that?”

“How can I tell you? He’s a wild beast, while we are both domestic animals.”

“And am I a domestic animal?”

Katya nodded her head.

Arkady scratched his ear. “Listen, Katerina Sergeyevna, surely that is in the nature of an insult.”

“Why, would you rather be wild?”

“Not wild, but powerful, energetic.”

“It’s no good wishing to be that . . . your friend, you see, doesn’t wish for it, but he has it.”

“Hm! So you suppose he had a great influence on Anna Sergeyevna?”

“Yes. But no one can keep the upper hand of her for long,” added Katya in a low voice.

“Why do you think that?”

“She’s very proud . . . I didn’t mean to say that . . she values her independence very much.”

“Who doesn’t value it?” asked Arkady, and the thought flashed through his mind: “What is it for?” The same thought occurred to Katya. Young people who are friendly and often together constantly find themselves thinking the same thoughts.

Arkady smiled and, coming a little closer to Katya, he said in a whisper: “Confess, you are a little afraid of her.”

“Of whom?”

“Of her,” repeated Arkady significantly.

“And how about you?” asked Katya in her turn.

“I am also. Please note I said, I am also.”

Katya wagged her finger at him threateningly.

“I wonder at that,” she began; “my sister has never felt so friendly towards you as just now; much more than when you first came here.”

“Fancy that!”

“And you haven’t noticed it? Aren’t you glad about it?”

Arkady became thoughtful.

“How have I succeeded in winning Anna Sergeyevna’s favor? Could it be because I brought her your mother’s letters?”

“Both for that and for other reasons which I won’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“I shan’t say.”

“Oh, I know, you’re very obstinate.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And observant.”

Katya cast a sidelong glance at Arkady. “Perhaps so; does that annoy you? What are you thinking about?”

“I’m wondering how you have grown to be so observant as you certainly are. You are so shy and distrustful; you keep everyone at a distance . . .”

“I live so much alone; that in itself leads to thoughtfulness. But do I keep everyone at a distance?”

Arkady flung a grateful glance at Katya.

“That’s all very well,” he went on; “but people in your position — I mean with your fortune, seldom possess that gift; it is hard for them, as it is for emperors, to get at the truth.”

“But, you see, I am not rich.”

Arkady was surprised and did not at once understand Katya. “Why, as a matter of fact, the property is all her sister’s!” struck him suddenly; the thought was not disagreeable to him.

“How nicely you said that,” he remarked.

“What?”

“You said it nicely, simply, without either being ashamed or making much of it. By the way, I imagine there must always be something special, a kind of pride in the feeling of a person who knows and says that he is poor.”

“I have never experienced anything of that sort, thanks to my sister. I referred to my position just now only because it happened to come up in our conversation.”

“Well, but you must admit that even you have something of that pride I spoke of just now.”

“For instance?”

“For instance, surely you — excuse my question — you wouldn’t be willing to marry a rich man?”

“If I loved him very much . . . no, probably even then I wouldn’t marry him.”

“There, you see!” cried Arkady, and after a moment’s pause he added, “And why wouldn’t you marry him?”

“Because even in the ballads unequal matches are always unlucky.”

“Perhaps you want to dominate, or . . .”

“Oh, no! What’s the good of that? On the contrary, I’m ready to obey; only inequality is difficult. But to keep one’s self-respect and to obey — that I can understand; that is happiness; but a subordinate existence . . . no, I’ve had enough of that as it is.”

“Had enough of that,” repeated Arkady after Katya. “You’re not Anna Sergeyevna’s sister for nothing; you’re just as independent as she is; but you’re more reserved. I’m sure you would never be the first to express your feelings, however strong or sacred . . .”

“Well, what would you expect?” asked Katya.

“You are equally intelligent; you have as much character, if not more, than she . . .”

“Don’t compare me with my sister, please,” interrupted Katya hurriedly; “it puts me too much at a disadvantage. You seem to forget that my sister is beautiful and clever and . . . you in particular, Arkady Nikolaich, ought not to say such things and with such a serious face too.”

“What does that mean? ‘You in particular.’ And what makes you conclude that I’m joking?”

“Of course you’re joking.”

“Do you think so? But what if I’m convinced of what I say? If I find that I’ve not even put it strongly enough?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Really? Well, now I see that I certainly overestimated your powers of observation.”

“How is that?”

Arkady made no answer and turned away, but Katya searched for a few more crumbs in the basket and began throwing them to the sparrows; but she moved her arm too vigorously and the birds flew away without stopping to pick them up.

“Katerina Sergeyevna,” began Arkady suddenly, “it is probably a matter of indifference to you; but you should know, I would not exchange you, neither for your sister, nor for anyone else in the world.”

He got up and walked quickly away, as if he were frightened by the words which had burst from his lips.

Katya let her two hands drop together with the basket, on to her knees, and with bowed head she gazed for some time after Arkady. Gradually a crimson flush spread a little to her cheeks, but her lips did not smile, and her dark eyes had a look of perplexity and of some other still undefined feeling.

“Are you alone?” sounded the voice of Anna Sergeyevna, quite close to her. “I thought you came into the garden with Arkady.”

Katya slowly raised her eyes to her sister (elegantly, almost elaborately dressed, she was standing on the path and tickling Fifi’s ears with the tip of her parasol) and slowly answered, “I’m alone.”

“So I see,” answered the other sister with a laugh. “I suppose he has gone back to his room.”

“Yes.”

“Were you reading together?”

“Yes.”

Anna Sergeyevna took Katya under the chin and raised her face.

“You didn’t quarrel, I hope.”

“No,” said Katya, quietly moving away her sister’s hand.

“How solemnly you answer. I thought I should find him here and was going to suggest a walk with him. He keeps on asking me about it. They have brought your new shoes from the town; go and try them on; I noticed yesterday that your old ones are quite worn out. Really you don’t pay enough attention to these things; but all the same you’ve got such lovely little feet! And your hands are good . . . only rather large; so you must make the most o............