zephyr’, then I began reading aloud Yermak’s address to the stars from Homyakov’s tragedy. I made an attempt to compose something myself in a sentimental vein, and invented the line which was to conclude each verse: ‘O Zina�da, Zina�da!’ but could get no further with it. Meanwhile it was getting on towards dinner-time. I went down into the valley; a narrow sandy path winding through it led to the town. I walked along this path� . The dull thud of horses’ hoofs resounded behind me. I looked round instinctively, stood still and took off my cap. I saw my father and Zina�da. They were riding side by side. My father was saying something to her, bending right over to her, his hand propped on the horses’ neck, he was smiling. Zina�da listened to him in silence, her eyes severely cast down, and her lips tightly pressed