"And I also," said she. "Just fancy, I've been sitting here and wondering where we could have met. My name is Lvova—does that remind you of anything?"

"I'm sorry to say it doesn't," answered he, "but my name is Voznitsin."

The lady's eyes gleamed suddenly with a gay and familiar smile, and Voznitsin saw that she knew him at once.

"Voznitsin, Kolya Voznitsin," she cried joyfully, holding out her hand to him. "Is it possible I didn't recognise you? Lvova, of course, is my married name.... But no, no, you will remember me in time.... Think: Moscow, Borisoglebsky Street, the house belonging to the church.... Well? Don't you remember your school chum, Arkasha Yurlof...?"

Voznitsin's hand trembled as he pressed hers. A flash of memory enlightened him.

"Well, I never!... It can't be Lenotchka? I beg your pardon, Elena ... Elena...."

"Elena Vladimirovna," she put in. "You've forgotten.... But you, Kolya, you're just the same Kolya, awkward, shy, touchy Kolya. How strange for us to meet like this! Do sit down.... How glad I am...."

"Yes," muttered Voznitsin, "the world is really so small that everyone must of necessity meet everyone else"—a by no means original thought." But tell me all that has happened. How is Arkasha—and Alexandra Millievna—and Oletchka?"

At school Voznitsin had only been intimate with one of his companions—Arkasha Yurlof. Every Sunday he had leave he used to visit the family, and at Easter and Christmas-time he had sometimes spent his holidays with them. Before the time came for them to go to college, Arkasha had fallen ill and had been ordered away