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His name is Volodya, too.

Please, like him; he is still shy, but he has a good heart.

Show him Neskutchny gardens, go walks with him, take him under your protection.

You'll do that, won't you? you're so good, too!' She laid both her hands affectionately on my shoulders, and I was utterly bewildered.

The presence of this boy transformed me, too, into a boy.

I looked in silence at the cadet, who stared as silently at me.

Zinaida laughed, and pushed us towards each other.

'Embrace each other, children!' We embraced each other.

'Would you like me to show you the garden?' I inquired of the cadet.

'If you please,' he replied, in the regular cadet's hoarse voice.

Zinaida laughed again...

I had time to notice that she had never had such an exquisite colour in her face before.

I set off with the cadet.

There was an old-fashioned swing in our garden.

I sat him down on the narrow plank seat, and began swinging him.

He sat rigid in his new little uniform of stout cloth, with its broad gold braiding, and kept tight hold of the cords.

'You'd better unbutton your collar,' I said to him.

'It's all right; we're used to it,' he said, and cleared his throat.

He was like his sister.

The eyes especially recalled her, I liked being nice to him; and at the same time an aching sadness was gnawing at my heart.

'Now I certainly am a child,' I thought; 'but yesterday...' I remembered where I had dropped my knife the night before, and looked for it.

The cadet asked me for it, picked a thick stalk of wild parsley, cut a pipe out of it, and began whistling.

Othello whistled too.

But in the evening how he wept, this Othello, in Zinaida's arms, when, seeking him out in a corner of the garden, she asked him why he was so depressed.

My tears flowed with such violence that she was frightened.

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