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"You see, Dmitri Prokofitch," she began. "I'll be perfectly open

with Dmitri Prokofitch, Dounia?"

"Of course, mother," said Avdotya Romanovna emphatically.

"This is what it is," she began in haste, as though the

permission to speak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind.

"Very early this morning we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch in

reply to our letter announcing our arrival. He promised to meet

us at the station, you know; instead of that he sent a servant to

bring us the address of these lodgings and to show us the way;

and he sent a message that he would be here himself this morning.

But this morning this note came from him. You'd better read it

yourself; there is one point in it which worries me very much...

you will soon see what that is, and... tell me your candid

opinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodya's character better

than anyone and no one can advise us better than you can. Dounia,

I must tell you, made her decision at once, but I still don't

feel sure how to act and I... I've been waiting for your

opinion."