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"But I don't think!"

"Here you have modesty, brother, silence, bashfulness, a savage

virtue... and yet she's sighing and melting like wax, simply

melting! Save me from her, by all that's unholy! She's most

prepossessing... I'll repay you, I'll do anything...."

Zossimov laughed more violently than ever.

"Well, you are smitten! But what am I to do with her?"

"It won't be much trouble, I assure you. Talk any rot you like to

her, as long as you sit by her and talk. You're a doctor, too;

try curing her of something. I swear you won't regret it. She has

a piano, and you know, I strum a little. I have a song there, a

genuine Russian one: 'I shed hot tears.' She likes the genuine

article--and well, it all began with that song; Now you're a

regular performer, a maitre, a Rubinstein.... I assure you, you

won't regret it!"

"But have you made her some promise? Something signed? A promise

of marriage, perhaps?"