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168 "I am not any better, Viérotchka. How will you get along without me? Your father's pittance is as small as it can be, and he himself is a poor support to you. You are a pretty girl. There are many bad people in this world. There will be no one to watch over you. I tremble for you." Viérotchka weeps.

"My dear, don't be grieved; I am telling you this, not to blame you, but to warn you. What made you leave home on Friday, the day before I fell sick?" Viérotchka weeps.

"He will deceive you, Viérotchka. Give him up."

"No, mámenka."

Two months pass. How is it that two months pass in one minute? An army officer is sitting. On the table before the officer is a bottle. On the officer's knees is she, Viérotchka.

Again two months more have passed in one minute.

A lady is sitting. Before the lady she, Viérotchka, is standing.

"Can you iron, dear?"

"I can."

"To what class do you belong? Are you a serf or free?"

"My father was a tchinovnik."

"So you belong to the nobility, my dear? Then I can't take you. What kind of a servant would you make? Go away, my dear; I can't take you."

Viérotchka is on the street.

"Mademoiselle! ho, mademoiselle!" says some young drunken fellow, accosting her. "Where are you going? Let me escort you."

Viérotchka runs to the Neva.

"Well, my dear, have you seen all these things that my magic art has conjured up? How do you like being with your kind mother?" asks the real Marya Alekséyevna, again