opinion of me? Do you suppose I am capable of betraying my friend and injuring you? Besides, come to that, there's nothing in your relations, as far as I'm aware, deserving of censure. . . . For goodness' sake, be calm."

Musa heard me out, without stirring from the spot, or looking at me again.

"There's something else I ought to tell you," she began, moving forward again along the path, "or else you may think I'm quite mad! I ought to tell you, that old man wants to marry me!"

"What old man? The bald one? Punin?"

"No--not he! The other . . . Paramon Semyonitch."

"Baburin?"

"Yes."

"Is it possible? Has he made you an offer?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't consent, of course?"

"Yes, I did consent . . . because I didn't understand what I was about then. Now it's a different matter."

I flung up my hands. "Baburin--and you! Why, he must be fifty!"

"He says forty-three. But that makes no difference. If he were five-and-twenty I wouldn't marry him. Much happiness I should find in it! A whole week will go by without his smiling once! Paramon