envy you exceedingly, nearly as much as I contemn you.
No, Masha, not you shall answer me. It is untrue; you do not know anything. Within one of the dark chambers of your ingenuous domicile lives something very useful to you, but in my house this chamber is empty. That something which had lived there died long ago, and on its grave I have erected a magnificent monument. It died, Masha, died, without hope of resurrection.
What am I then, gentlemen experts, insane or not? Pardon me if I, with such rude persistence, dog you with this question; but then you are "men of science," as my father called you when he wished to flatter you; you possess books and you dominate with clear, precise and infallible human thought. It is likely that half of you will maintain one opinion, the other half of you will maintain another; but I will believe you, learned gentemen, believe the one and the other. Tell me, then . . . and to assist your enlightened minds I will reveal an interesting little fact.
