in this conversation was a fact which gave him small pleasure. The truth was he had forgotten that, once a delicate subject is touched upon, one cannot well avoid a fuss. Though he wished his rooms to be kept clean, he wished this task to be carried out invisibly, and apart from himself; whereas, whenever Zakhar was called upon to do even the least sweeping or dusting, he made a grievance of it.

After Zakhar had retired to his den Oblomov relapsed into thought, until, a few minutes later, the clock sounded a half-hour of some sort.

"What is that?" cried Oblomov in horror.

"Soon the time will be eleven, yet I am not yet up and washed! Zakhar! Zakhar!"

Zakhar reappeared.

"Are my washing things ready?" his master inquired.

"Yes, they have been ready a long time. Why do you not get up?"

"And why didn't you tell me that the things are ready? Had you done that, I should have risen long ago. Go along, and I will follow you; but at the moment I must sit down and write a letter."

Zakhar left the room. Presently he re-