“Don’t listen to her, please, and don’t read them. However, if you want to go to sleep you may as well read them: they are excellent soporifics.”

“I think them excellent articles,” Tania said, with deep conviction. “Read them, Andryusha, and persuade papa to write oftener. He might write a whole course of horticulture.”

Egor Semenych forced a laugh, blushed and began to say such phrases as confused authors are wont to say. At last he gave in.

“If you must, then first read this article by Gaucher and these Russian notices,” he murmured, turning the pamphlets over with trembling hands, “or else you won’t understand it. Before reading my refutation you must know what I refute. However, it’s all nonsense . . . and very dull. Besides, I should say it’s time to go to bed.”

Tania left the room. Egor Semenych sat down on the sofa next to Kovrin and sighed deeply.

“Yes, my dear fellow . . .” he began after a short silence. “So it is, my most amiable Master of Arts. Here am I writing articles, taking part in exhibitions, receiving medals. . . . People say Pesotski has apples the size of a man’s head, people say Pesotski has made a fortune by his orchards and gardens. In a word, ‘Kochubey is rich and famous.’ Query: To what does all this lead? The garden is really beautifut—a model garden. . . . It is not simply a garden, it is an institution, possessing great importance for the empire, because it is, so to speak, a step in a new era of Russian economy—of Russian industry. But what for? For what object?”

“The business speaks for itself.”

“That is not what I mean. I ask: What will become of the gardens when I die? In the condition you see it now, it will not exist for a single month without me. The whole secret of its success is not because the garden is large and there are many labourers, but because I love the work—you understand? I love it, perhaps more than my own self. Look at me. I do everything myself.