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I
stopped
,
and
let
her
pass
ahead
again
.
I
could
,
for
the
moment
,
go
no
further
;
the
whole
thing
struck
me
as
being
so
singular
.
I
was
in
a
tantalizing
mood
,
annoyed
with
myself
on
account
of
the
pencil
incident
,
and
in
a
high
degree
disturbed
by
all
the
food
I
had
taken
on
a
totally
empty
stomach
.
Suddenly
my
thoughts
,
as
if
whimsically
inspired
,
take
a
singular
direction
.
I
feel
myself
seized
with
an
odd
desire
to
make
this
lady
afraid
;
to
follow
her
,
and
annoy
her
in
some
way
.
I
overtake
her
again
,
pass
her
by
,
turn
quickly
round
,
and
meet
her
face-to-face
in
order
to
observe
her
well
.
I
stand
and
gaze
into
her
eyes
,
and
hit
,
on
the
spur
of
the
moment
,
on
a
name
which
I
have
never
heard
before
--
a
name
with
a
gliding
,
nervous
sound
--
Ylajali
!
When
she
is
quite
close
to
me
I
draw
myself
up
and
say
impressively
:
"
You
are
losing
your
book
,
madam
!
"
I
could
hear
my
heart
beat
audibly
as
I
said
it
.
"
My
book
?
"
she
asks
her
companion
,
and
she
walks
on
.
My
devilment
waxed
apace
,
and
I
followed
them
.
At
the
same
time
,
I
was
fully
conscious
that
I
was
playing
a
mad
prank
without
being
able
to
stop
myself
.
My
disordered
condition
ran
away
with
me
;
I
was
inspired
with
the
craziest
notions
,
which
I
followed
blindly
as
they
came
to
me
.
I
could
n't
help
it
,
no
matter
how
much
I
told
myself
that
I
was
playing
the
fool
.
I
made
the
most
idiotic
grimaces
behind
the
lady
's
back
,
and
coughed
frantically
as
I
passed
her
by
.
Walking
on
in
this
manner
--
very
slowly
,
and
always
a
few
steps
in
advance
--
I
felt
her
eyes
on
my
back
,
and
involuntarily
put
down
my
head
with
shame
for
having
caused
her
annoyance
.
By
degrees
,
a
wonderful
feeling
stole
over
me
of
being
far
,
far
away
in
other
places
;
I
had
a
half-undefined
sense
that
it
was
not
I
who
was
going
along
over
the
gravel
hanging
my
head
.
A
few
minutes
later
,
they
reached
Pascha
's
bookshop
.
I
had
already
stopped
at
the
first
window
,
and
as
they
go
by
I
step
forward
and
repeat
:
"
You
are
losing
your
book
,
madam
!
"
"
No
;
what
book
?
"
she
asks
affrightedly
.
"
Can
you
make
out
what
book
it
is
he
is
talking
about
?
"
and
she
comes
to
a
stop
.
I
hug
myself
with
delight
at
her
confusion
;
the
irresolute
perplexity
in
her
eyes
positively
fascinates
me
.
Her
mind
can
not
grasp
my
short
,
passionate
address
.
She
has
no
book
with
her
;
not
a
single
page
of
a
book
,
and
yet
she
fumbles
in
her
pockets
,
looks
down
repeatedly
at
her
hands
,
turns
her
head
and
scrutinizes
the
streets
behind
her
,
exerts
her
sensitive
little
brain
to
the
utmost
in
trying
to
discover
what
book
it
is
I
am
talking
about
.
Her
face
changes
colour
,
has
now
one
,
now
another
expression
,
and
she
is
breathing
quite
audibly
--
even
the
very
buttons
on
her
gown
seem
to
stare
at
me
,
like
a
row
of
frightened
eyes
.
"
Do
n't
bother
about
him
!
"
says
her
companion
,
taking
her
by
the
arm
.
"
He
is
drunk
;
ca
n't
you
see
that
the
man
is
drunk
?
"
