"Your first duty as a pupil is to learn ... you should not be attracted by society however pleasant and irreproachable ... in any case I should say that the society of boys of your own age would be preferable ... you must keep high your own reputation and that of your educational institution.... Finally, I may say candidly that I have reasons to suppose that your relations with young ladies have a character of great freedom unpermissible at your age, and altogether not in accordance with generally accepted rules of propriety."
Sasha began to cry. He felt distressed that anyone could think and talk of dear Liudmillotchka as of a person with whom you could take improper liberties.
"Upon my word, there was nothing wrong," he assured the Head-Master. "We only read, went for walks and played--well, we ran sometimes--we did nothing else."
Khripatch slapped him on the back and said in a dry voice which he tried to make hearty:
(Why shouldn't he sometimes call this boy Sasha! Was it because it was not official and there was, as yet, no ministerial circular?)
"I believe you when you say that nothing wrong has happened, but all the same you had better put an end to your frequent visits. Believe me, it would be better. I speak to you not only as your schoolmaster and official head, but also as your friend."
Nothing remained for Sasha to do but to make his bow, to thank the Head-Master, and to obey. And Sasha from this time on went to Liudmilla's only for five or ten minutes at a time--but still he tried to go every day. It vexed him to be able to make only such short visits and he vented his annoyance on Liudmilla herself. He often called her now "Liudmillka," "silly fool," "Balaam's ass," and he even struck her. But Liudmilla only laughed at it all.
The report spread about town that the actors of the local theatre were going to organise a masked ball at the Club House, with prizes for the best man's and the best woman's costumes. There were exaggerated rumours about the prize. It was said that the best-dressed lady would receive a cow and the best-dressed man a bicycle. These rumours excited the town people. Each one was eager to win--the prizes were so considerable. The costumes were prepared in haste. No expense was spared. People hid their costumes even from their nearest friends so that their brilliant idea might not be stolen. When the printed announcement of the masked ball appeared--huge bills, pasted on fences and sent out to important tradesmen--it turned out that they were not giving a cow and a bicycle but only a fan to the lady and an album to the man. This vexed and disenchanted those who had been preparing for the ball. They began to grumble. They said: