I + 

Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at the Gorodischevs: “Where are you greeting the holiday?” + 

Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who was stout, shortsighted and fussy, went on: “Come to us.” + 

Saksaoolov felt vexed⁠—most likely at the young girl, who at the words of her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued her conversation with a professor’s young assistant. + 

Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which annoyed him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven. + 

He answered sharply: “Thank you. But I always pass that night at home.” + 

The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: “With whom?” + 

“Alone,” answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his voice. + 

“You’re a misanthrope,” said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour smile. + 

Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he thought of it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived long in his small but tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to his man attendant, the elderly and steady Fedota, and to Fedota’s not less reliable spouse, who cooked his dinner; and he persuaded himself that he ought to remain single out of memory to his first love. In truth, his heart was growing cold from indifference born of a lonely, incomplete life. + 

He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he had no near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something to do with a government department; was intimately acquainted with contemporary literature and art; and was something of an epicurean⁠—but life itself seemed to him to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one pure, radiant fancy visited him at times he would have become entirely cold, like many others. + 