'Two months, not longer; grandmother says that I'm spoilt in the country, though I have a governess even here.'
'A French governess?'
'Yes.'
Punin scratched behind his ear. 'A mamselle, that's to say?'
'Yes; she's called Mademoiselle Friquet.' I suddenly felt it disgraceful for me, a boy of twelve, to have not a tutor, but a governess, like a little girl! 'But I don't mind her,' I added contemptuously. 'What do I care!'
Punin shook his head. 'Ah, you gentlefolk, you gentlefolk! you're too fond of foreigners! You have turned away from what is Russian,—towards all that's strange. You've turned your hearts to those that come from foreign parts. . . .'
'Hullo! Are you talking in verse?' I asked.
'Well, and why not? I can do that always, as much as you please; for it comes natural to me. . . .'
But at that very instant there sounded in the garden behind us a loud and shrill whistle. My new acquaintance hurriedly got up from the bench.
'Good-bye, little sir; that's my friend calling me, looking for me. . . . What has he to tell me? Good-bye—excuse me. . . .'
He plunged into the bushes and vanished, while I sat on some time longer on the seat. I felt perplexity and another feeling, rather an
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