After dinner, when the guests were leaving, he went into his room and laid on the couch: he was eager to think more of the monk. But after a minute Tanya entered.  
   — Listen, Andrusha, read father’s articles, — she said, handing him a packet of prints and brochures, — wonderful articles. He writes so well.
   — Well, that is great already!  — said Igor Semyenich, entering behind her and laughing in a forced manner; he was ashamed. Do not listen to it, please, do not read! However, if you want to fall asleep, then please, do read: a wonderful sleep aid.
   — Well I think, they are magnificent articles, Tanya said with deep conviction. — You read them,  Andrusha, and convince Papa to write a bit more often. He could write an entire book on gardening.
   Igor Semyenich chuckled anxiously, blushed and began to say phrases, which usually are spoken by sheepish authors. Finally, he started to give way.
   — In that case, to begin with read the article by Gaucher and these Russian articles here, — he muttered, sorting with trembling hands through the papers, — but then it will be incomprehensible to you. Before you read my criticism, it is necessary to know what I object to. However, nonsense… boredom. And it also appears it is time to sleep.
   Tanya exited. Igor Semyenich sat down next to Kovrin on the couch and took a deep breath.
   — Yes, my old friend…— he began after a period of silence. — now then, my dear sir. I do write articles, and I also participate in exhibitions, and receive medals… Pesotzky, they say, has apples the size of one’s head, and Pesotzky, they say,  made the garden this way himself. In a word, as wealthy and famous as Kochubay. But one wonders: for what purpose is all this? A garden, really, beautiful, exemplary… This is not a garden, but an entire institution, having elevated official significance, because this, as they say, is a step towards a new era of Russian cultivation and Russian industry. But what for? What is the goal?
   — The business speaks for itself.
   — I do not mean in that sense. I want to ask: what will happen to the garden when I die? In the condition you see it now, it will not last even one month without me. The whole secret of success, is not that the garden is grand and the workers many, but that I love the subject— you understand? — I love it, maybe, more than my own self. You look at me: I do everything myself. I work from morning until the night. All the grafting, I do myself, the trimming— myself, the plantings— myself, everything— myself. When they help me, I am jealous and get annoyed until rudeness. The whole secret is love, that is in the careful and watchful eye, and adept hands, and in that feeling, when you go somewhere as a guest for an time, sit down, and your heart itself is out of place, you are not yourself:
you fear, as if in the garden something might happen. And when I die, who will be watching? Who will work? The gardener? The laborers? Really? That is why I say to you, my dear friend: enemy number one in this business is not rabbits, not bugs, and not frost, but another person.    
   — What about Tanya? — asked Kovrin, laughing.— Impossible that she could be more harmful than a rabbit. She loves and understands the business.
    — Yes, she loves and understands. If she inherits the garden after my death and is the owner, of course there is nothing better to wish for. Well, but what if, God willing, she will get married? — whispered Igor Semyenich and fearfully looked at Kovrin. — Yes, and there it is! She will get married, have children, and never think of the garden here anymore.
   — I fear mainly this: she will marry some young man, and he will be greedy and rent the garden to a business person, and all will go to hell in only one year!  In our business, married women— God’s punishment!
   Igor Semyenich sighed and remained quiet a while.
   — It can be, this also is egoism, but I say it openly: I do not want Tanya to get married. I fear it! A young plod comes here with his violin and scrapes; I know, that Tanya will not go to him, I know it well, but I cannot see him! Generally, brother, I am some big type of old eccentric. I admit it.
   Igor Semyenich stood up and crossed the room in excitement, and it was evident that he wanted to say something very important, but did not fix himself on it.
   — I love you fondly and will speak with you openly, — he finally set upon himself, thrusting his hands in his pockets.— to some delicate questions I will relate simply and say frankly what I think, and I cannot bear so-called concealed thoughts. I say frankly, you are the only person who I did not fear to give away my daughter to. You are a clever person, with heart, and would not allow my cherished business to perish. But the main reason— I love you, like a son… I am proud of you. If you and Tanya had a successful romance, so— what then? I would be very pleased and even fortunate. I say it frankly, without pretension, as an honest person.
   Kovrin laughed. Igor Semyenich opened the door to exit, and stopped at the threshold.
   — If a son is born by you and Tanya, then I will make a gardener out of him,— he said, having thought. — However, these are frivolous dreams… goodnight.
    Left alone, Kovrin laid down more comfortably and started to read the articles. One had such a heading: “On Intermediate Cultivation”, and another: “Some Words Regarding theWritings of G.Z. on the Tilling of Soil for a New Garden,” the third “More on Grafting With a Sleeping Bud” — and all in such a manner. But such a restless, uneven tone, so nervous, almost sick passion! Here is an article, it seems, with the most peaceful heading and unexceptional content: it speaks in it about Russian Antonov apple trees. But Igor Semyenich begins it with “audiatur altera pars” and finishes— “sapienti sat”, but in between these sayings is a whole stream of different poisonous words addressed to “learned ignorance of our patent gentlemen gardeners, observing the nature from their high pulpits,” or G. Goucher, “whose success was created by laypersons and dilettantes,” and there is highly inappropriate, strained and insincere regret, that it is now forbidden to beat peasants stealing fruit and breaking trees in the act with a rod.
   “The business is beautiful, sweet, healthy, but there is also struggle and war, — thought Kovrin. — It must be everywhere and in all professions idealistic people are anxious, and differentiated by their heightened sensitivity. Probably, it must be this way”.
   He remembered Tanya, who liked the articles of Igor Semyenich so much. Short stature, pale, thin, so that her collarbone was showing; eyes wide open, dark, intelligent, always peering out somewhere and looking for something; a gait, like the father, short, hurried. She speaks a lot, loves to argue, and so even every meaningless phrase is accompanied by expressive mimicry and gestures. Must be, she is nervous to a great extent.
   Kovrin started to read further, but he did not understand anything and put it aside. A pleasant agitation, the very same, with which he recently danced the Mazurka and listened to music, now made him tired and summoned a great mass of thoughts in himself. He stood up and began to walk around the room, thinking about the black monk. It entered into his head, that if this strange, supernatural monk was only seen by him, then, it means he is sick and already to the point of hallucination. This notion frightened him, but not for a long time.
   “But really I am well and I am not doing harm to anyone; that means, in my hallucinations there is nothing evil.” — he thought, and again was contented.
   He sat down on the couch and cradled his head in his hands, holding inside the indecipherable joy that had filled up all his existence, then again went over and sat down to work. But the thoughts, which he was reading in the book did not satisfy him. He cared more for something gigantic, unbounded, affecting. When it was almost morning he got undressed and passively laid down in bed: he really needed to get some sleep!     
   When the steps of Igor Semyenich going out to the garden were heard, Kovrin called and ordered a servant to bring wine. He drank down a few glasses of Lafite with enjoyment, then covered up his head; consciousness went into a fog, and he fell asleep.