"You! And not catch us?" said Katusha.

"One, two, three," and the artist clapped his hands. Katusha,

hardly restraining her laughter, changed places with Nekhludoff,

behind the artist's back, and pressing his large hand with her

little rough one, and rustling with her starched petticoat, ran

to the left. Nekhludoff ran fast to the right, trying to escape

from the artist, but when he looked round he saw the artist

running after Katusha, who kept well ahead, her firm young legs