'No.'

'How's that?--really! I take rolls from you every day, and pay for them regularly.'

The woman stared at him in silence. 'Take twists,' she said at last, yawning; 'or a scone.'

'I don't like them,' said Pyetushkov, and he felt positively hurt.

'As you please,' muttered the fat woman, and she slammed to the window-pane.

Ivan Afanasiitch was quite unhinged by his intense vexation. In his perturbation he crossed to the other side of the street, and gave himself up entirely, like a child, to his displeasure.

'Sir!' ... he heard a rather agreeable female voice; 'sir!'

Ivan Afanasiitch raised his eyes. From the open pane of the bakehouse window peeped a girl of about seventeen, holding a white roll in her hand. She had a full round face, rosy cheeks, small hazel eyes, rather a turn-up nose, fair hair, and magnificent shoulders. Her features suggested good-nature, laziness, and carelessness.

'Here's a roll for you, sir,' she said, laughing, 'I'd taken for myself; but take it, please, I'll give it up to you.'

'I thank you most sincerely. Allow me ...'

Pyetushkov began fumbling in his pocket.

'No, no! you are welcome to it.'

She closed the