he had been very fond of, and that ever since his death she had gone up to the attic and stayed there, mewing incessantly, as though she were calling some one . . . the neighbours were very much scared, and fancied that it was Punin's soul that had passed into the cat.

"Paramon Semyonitch is worried about something," I said at last.

"Oh, you noticed it?"--Musa sighed. "He cannot help being worried. I need hardly tell you that Paramon Semyonitch has remained faithful to his principles. . . . The present condition of affairs can but strengthen them." (Musa expressed herself quite differently now from in the old days in Moscow; there was a literary, bookish flavour in her phrases.) "I don't know, though, whether I can rely upon you, and how you will receive. . . ."

"Why should you imagine you cannot rely upon me?"

"Well, you are in the government service--you are an official."

"Well, what of that?"

"You are, consequently, loyal to the government."

I marvelled inwardly . . . at Musa's innocence. "As to my attitude to the government, which is not even aware of my existence, I won't enlarge upon that," I observed; "but you may set your mind at rest. I will make no bad use of your confidence. I sympathise with