Foma imagined that deep in her heart she was concealing from everybody something terrible, that she would never love anyone, never reveal herself entire.

This secrecy in the woman attracted him toward her with a feeling of timorous curiosity, of a great, strained interest in her calm, cold soul, which seemed even as dark as her eyes.
Somehow Foma said to her one day: "But what piles of money you and I have squandered!" She glanced at him, and asked: "And why should we save it ?" "Indeed, why ?" thought Foma, astonished by the fact that she reasoned so simply.
"Who are you ?" he asked her at another occasion.
"Why, have you forgotten my name ?" "Well, the idea!" "What do you wish to know then ?" "I am asking you about your origin." "Ah! I am a native of the province of Yaroslavl.

I'm from Ooglich.

I was a harpist.

Well, shall I taste sweeter to you, now that you know who I am ?" "Do I know it ?" asked Foma, laughing.
"Isn't that enough for you?
I shall tell you nothing more about it.