"Good morning, uncle, good morning,"--I repeated, wishing to encourage
him.--"Why,"--I added, unexpectedly descrying my quarterruble on the
ground,--"didst not thou see it?"
And I pointed out to him the silver circle, half peeping from beneath
the short grass.
"Yes, I saw it."
"Then why didst thou not pick it up?"
"Because it was n't my money, so I did n't pick it up."
"What a fellow thou art, brother!"--I returned, not without
embarrassment, and picking up the coin, I offered it to him
again.--"Take it, take it, for tea."
"Much obliged,"--Lukyánitch answered me, with a composed smile.--"It is
n't necessary; I 'll manage to pull through without it. Much obliged."
"But I am ready to give you still more, with pleasure!"--I replied in
confusion.
"What for? Please don't disturb yourself--much obliged for your
good-will, but we still have a crust of bread. And perhaps we sha'n't
eat that up--that 's as it may happen."
And he rose, and put out his hand to the wicket-gate.
"Stay, stay, old man,"--I began, almost in desperation;--"how
uncommunicative thou art to-day, really.... Tell me, at least, has your
mistress risen yet?"
"She has."
"And .... is she at home?"
"No, she 's not at home."
"Has she gone off on a visit, pray?"
"No, sir; she has gone to Moscow."
"To Moscow! How is that? Why, she was here this morning!"
"She was."
"And she passed the night here?"
"She did."
"And she came hither recently?"
"Yes."
"What next, my good man?"
"Why, this: it must be about an hour since she deigned to start back to
Moscow."
"To Moscow!"
I stared in petrification at Lukyánitch; I had not expected this, I
admit.
Lukyánitch stared at me.... A crafty, senile smile distended his
withered lips and almost beamed in his melancholy eyes.
"And did she go away with her sister?"--I said at last.
"Yes."
"So that now there is no one in the house?"
"No one...."
"This old man is deceiving me,"--flashed through my head.--"'T is not
without cause that he is grinning so craftily.--Listen, Lukyánitch,"--I
said aloud;--"dost wish to do me one favour?"
"What is it you wish?"--he enunciated slowly, evidently beginning to
feel annoyed by my questions.
"Thou sayest that there is no one in the house; canst thou show it to
me? I should be very grateful to thee."
"That is, you want to inspect the rooms?"
"Yes, the rooms."
Lukyánitch remained silent for a space.
"Very well,"--he said at last.--"Pray, enter...."
And bending down, he stepped across the threshold of the wicket-gate. I
followed him. After traversing a tiny courtyard, we ascended the
tottering steps of the porch. The old man gave the door a push;
there was no lock on it: a cord with a knot stuck out through the
key-hole.... We entered the house. It consisted in all of five or six
low-ceiled rooms, and, so far as I could make out in the faint light,
which streamed sparsely through the rifts in the shutters, the furniture
in these rooms was extremely plain and decrepit. In one of them (namely,
in the one which opened on the garden) stood a small, antiquated
piano.... I raised its warped lid and struck the keys: a shrill, hissing
sound rang out and died feebly away, as though complaining of my
audacity. It was impossible to discern from anything that people had
recently left the house; it had a dead and stifling sort of smell--the
odour of an uninhabited dwelling; here and there, indeed, a discarded
paper gave one to understand, by its whiteness, that it had been dropped
there recently. I picked up one such bit of paper; it proved to be a
scrap of a letter; on one side in a dashing feminine handwriting were
scrawled the words "_se taire?_" on the other I made out the word
"_bonheur_."... On a small round table near the window stood a nosegay
of half-faded flowers in a glass, and a green, rumpled ribbon was lying
there also .... I took that ribbon as a souvenir.--Lukyánitch opened a
narrow door, pasted over with wall-paper.
"Here,"--said he, extending his hand:--"this here is the bedroom, and
yonder, beyond it, is the room for the maids, and there are no other
chambers...."
We returned by way of the corridor.--"And what room is that yonder?"--I
asked, pointing at a broad, white door with a lock.
"That?"--Lukyánitch answered me, in a dull voice.--"That 's nothing."
"How so?"
"Because.... 'T is a store-room..." And he started to go into the
anteroom.
"A store-room? Cannot I look at it?"...
"What makes you want to do that, master, really?!"--replied Lukyánitch
with displeasure.--"What is there for you to look at? Chests, old
crockery ... 't is a store-room, and nothing more...."
"All the same, show it to me, please, old man,"--I said, although I was
inwardly ashamed of my indecent persistence.--"I should like, you see
.... I should like to have just such a house myself at home, in my
village ...."