"Yes, yes," he replied, sighing, "you are right; all that is bad, and it
is not matured by reflection. What am I to do? I have not worked
enough; our cursed Slavic indolence always ends in getting the better of
me! Whilst the work is still but an idea, like an eagle soaring in the
air, we believe ourselves able to move the world; then at the moment of
execution come weaknesses, and then--weariness."
I offered him some words of encouragement, but he interrupted me with a
wave of the hand, picked up his sketches, and threw them in a heap upon
the sofa.
"If perseverance does not fail me, I shall succeed," said he, between
his teeth; "otherwise, I shall vegetate as a country squire, never
amounting to anything.
"Let us go and look for Annouchka!"