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404 that I am not going to speak with him without your permission."

"He does not know."

"Does he love you?"

"Yes."

"What do you think that I am going to tell you now? You say that he loves you; I have heard that he was a stupid. What makes you think that it will be useless for you to reveal to him your feeling, that he will not consent? If the obstacle had lain simply in the poverty of the man whom you love, this would not have kept you from trying to persuade your father to give his consent; that is what I think about it. Therefore I must think that you entertain an exceedingly poor opinion of him; there could be no other reason for you to hide the matter from your father. Isn't it so?"

The sick girl said not a word.

"It is evident that I am not mistaken. What shall I think now? Your bátiushka is a man of experience in life, who knows human nature; you are inexperienced; if any person seems bad to him, and good to you, then according to all probabilities it is you who are mistaken, and not he. You see that I must think so? Do you want to know why I tell you such a disagreeable thing? I will tell you. You may get angry at my words, you may hate me because of them, but still you will say to yourself, 'He is saying what he thinks; he is not hypocritical, he does not want to deceive me.' You are gaining confidence in me. Isn't it true that I am speaking sincerely with you?"

The sick girl was hesitating whether to answer or not. "You are a strange man, doctor," she said, at last.

"No, not strange; but I am not like one who deceives. I have told you straightforwardly what I think. But this is only my supposition. Maybe I am mistaken. Let me know whether I am. Tell me the name of the man towards whom you feel this inclination. Then—but again, only with your permission—I will speak about him to your bátiushka."

"What will you tell him?"

"Does he know him intimately?"

"Yes."

"In that case, I shall tell him that he must consent to your marriage, but only on one condition, that the time of