‘Why, did you let out some secret?’ asked Sophia.
‘I am not referring to myself.’
Sophia turned away, and began walking up and down the room again. I stared at her, raging inwardly. ‘Upon my word,’ I thought, ‘she is a child, a baby, and how she has herself in hand! She’s made of stone, simply. But wait a bit….’
‘Sophia Nikolaevna …’ I said aloud.
Sophia stopped.
‘What is it?’
‘Won’t you play me something on the piano? By the way, I’ve something I want to say to you,’ I added, dropping my voice.
Sophia, without saying a word, walked into the other room; I followed her. She came to a standstill at the piano.
‘What am I to play you?’ she inquired.
‘What you like … one of Chopin’s nocturnes.’
Sophia began the nocturne. She played rather badly, but with feeling. Her sister played not
