THE INN

(1852)

On the great B*** highway, almost equidistant from the two county towns

through which it passes, there was still standing, not long since, a

spacious inn, very well known to drivers of tróïka-teams, to

freight-sledge peasants, to merchants' clerks, to traders of the

petty-burgher class, and, in general, to all the numerous and varied

travellers, who at all seasons of the year roll along our roads.

Everybody used to drop in at this inn; except only some landed

proprietor's carriage, drawn by six home-bred horses, would glide

solemnly past, which, however, did not prevent the coachman and the

lackey on the foot-board from looking with particular feeling and

attention at the porch but too familiar to them; or some very poor

fellow, in a rickety cart, with fifteen kopéks in the purse stuffed into

his bosom, on coming to the fine inn, would urge on his weak nag,

hastening to his night's lodging in the suburb on the great highway, to

the house of the peasant-host, where you will find nothing except hay

and bread, but, on the other hand, will not be obliged to pay a kopék

too much.

In addition to its advantageous situation, the inn of which we have

just spoken possessed many attractions: capital water in two deep wells

with creaking wheels and iron buckets on chains; a spacious stable-yard

with plenty of board sheds on stout pillars; an abundant supply of good

oats in the cellar; a warm house, with a huge Russian stove, into which,

as upon the shoulders of an epic hero, long logs were thrust; two

fairly-clean little chambers with reddish-lilac paper on the walls

somewhat tattered at the bottom, with a painted wooden divan, chairs to

match, and two pots of geranium in the windows, which, however, were

never washed and were dim with the dust of many years. This inn offered

other comforts:--the blacksmith's shop was near at hand, and the mill

was situated almost alongside of it; in conclusion, good food was to be

had in it, thanks to the fat and rosy-cheeked peasant-woman who was the

cook, and who prepared the viands in a savoury manner and with plenty of

fat, and was not stingy of her stores; the nearest dram-shop was only

half a verst distant; the landlord kept snuff, which, although mixed

with ashes, was extremely heady, and tickled the nose agreeably: in a

word, there were many reasons why guests of every sort were not lacking

in that inn. Travellers had taken a fancy to it--that is the principal

thing; without that, as is well known, no business will thrive; and it

was liked most of all because, as people said in the countryside, the

landlord himself was very lucky and succeeded in all his enterprises,

although he little deserved his luck, and it was evident that if a man

is destined to be lucky he will be.

This landlord was a petty burgher, Naúm Ivánoff by name. He was of

medium stature, thick-set, stooping and broad-shouldered; he had a

large, round head, hair which was wavy and already grizzled, although in

appearance he was not over forty years of age; a plump and rosy face, a

low, but white and smooth brow, and small, bright blue eyes, with which

he gazed forth very strangely--askance, and, at the same time,

insolently, which is a combination rarely encountered. He always held

his head in a drooping position, and turned it with difficulty, perhaps

because his neck was very short; he walked briskly and did not swing his

arms, but opened his clenched fists as he walked. When he smiled,--and

he smiled frequently, but without laughter, as though to himself,--his

large lips moved apart in an unpleasant way, and displayed a row of

compact and dazzling teeth. He spoke abruptly, and with a certain surly

sound in his voice. He shaved off his beard, but did not adopt the

foreign dress. His garments consisted of a long, extremely-threadbare

kaftan, ample bag-trousers, and shoes worn on the bare feet. He often

absented himself from home on business,--and he had a great deal of

business: he was a jobber of horses, he hired land, he raised

vegetables for the market, he purchased gardens, and in general occupied

himself with various commercial speculations,--but his absences never

lasted long; like the hawk, to whom in particular, especially as to the

expression of his eyes, he bore a strong resemblance, he kept returning

to his nest. He understood how to keep that nest in order; he kept track

of everything, he heard everything, and gave orders about everything; he

dealt out, he served out, and calculated everything himself, and while

he did not reduce his price a kopék to any one, yet he did not

overcharge.

The lodgers did not enter into conversation with him, and he himself was

not fond of wasting words without cause. "I need your money, and you

need my victuals," he was wont to explain, as though he were tearing off

each separate word: "you and I have n't got to stand godparents to a

child and become cronies; the traveller has eaten, I have fed him his

fill, let him not outstay his welcome. And if he is sleepy, then let him

sleep, not chatter." He kept sturdy and healthy, but tame and submissive

labourers; they were extremely afraid of him. He never took a drop of

intoxicating liquor into his mouth, but he gave each of them ten kopéks

for vodka on festival days; on other days they did not dare to drink.

People like Naúm speedily grow rich;.... but Naúm Ivánoff had not

reached the brilliant condition in which he found himself--and he was

reckoned to be worth forty or fifty thousand rubles--by straightforward

ways....

Twenty years previous to the date at which we have set the beginning of

our story, an inn existed on that same site upon the highway. Truth to

tell, it had not that dark-red plank roof which imparted to Naúm

Ivánoff's house the aspect of a nobleman's manor-house; and it was

poorer in its construction, and the sheds in the stable-yard were

thatched, and the walls were made of wattled boughs instead of boards;

neither was it distinguished by a triangular Greek pediment on turned

columns; but it was a very decent sort of inn, nevertheless,--spacious,

solid, and warm,--and travellers gladly frequented it. Its landlord at

that time was not Naúm Ivánoff, but a certain Akím Semyónoff, the serf

of a neighbouring landed proprietress, Lizavéta Prókhorovna Kuntze--the

widow of a staff-officer. This Akím was an intelligent peasant, with

good business capacity, who, having started with two wretched little

nags as a carrier, in his youth, returned a year later with three good

horses, and from that time forth spent the greater part of his life in

roaming along the highways, visited Kazán and Odessa, Orenbúrg and

Warsaw, and went abroad to "Lipetzk,"[32] and travelled toward the last

with two tróïkas of huge and powerful stallions harnessed to two

enormous carts. Whether it was that he became bored by this homeless,

roving life, or whether he was seized with the desire to set up a family

(in one of his absences his wife had died; the children which he had had

died also), at all events he decided, at last, to abandon his former

avocation and set up an inn.

With the permission of his mistress, he established himself on the

highway, purchased in her name half a _desyatína_[33] of land, and

erected thereon an inn. The venture proved a success. He had more than

enough money for the installation; the experience which he had acquired

in his prolonged wanderings to all parts of Russia was of the greatest

advantage to him: he knew how to please travellers, especially men of

his own former calling,--three-horse-team carriers,--with many of whom

he was personally acquainted, and whose patronage is particularly valued

by the tavern-keepers: so much do these people eat and consume for

themselves and their robust horses. Akím's inn became known for hundreds

of versts round about.... People were even fonder of patronising him

than they were of patronising Naúm, who afterward succeeded him,

although Akím was far from being comparable to Naúm in his knowledge of

the landlord's business.

Akím had everything established on the old-fashioned footing,--warm but

not quite clean; and it sometimes happened that his oats turned out to

be light, or damp, and the food also was prepared in rather indifferent

fashion; such victuals were sometimes served on his table as had been

better left in the oven for good, and that not because he was stingy

with material, but just because it happened so--his wife had not looked

after things. On the other hand, he was ready to deduct from the price,

and he would even not refuse to give credit. In a word, he was a good

man and an amiable landlord. He was liberal also with his conversation

and standing treat; over the samovár he would sometimes get to babbling

so that you would prick up your ears, especially when he began to talk

about Peter,[34] about the Tcherkessian steppes, or about foreign parts;

well, and as a matter of course, he was fond of drinking with a nice

man, only not to excess, and more for the sake of sociability--so

travellers said of him.

Merchants bore great good-will toward him, as, in general, did all those

people who call themselves old-fashioned--those people who do not set

out on a journey without having girded themselves and who do not enter a

room without crossing themselves,[35] and who will not enter into

conversation with a man without having preliminarily bidden him "good

morning." Akím's mere personal appearance disposed one in his favour; he

was tall, rather gaunt, but very well built, even in his mature years;

he had a long, comely and regular face, a high, open brow, a thin,

straight nose, and small lips. The glance of his prominent brown eyes

fairly beamed with gentle cordiality, his thin, soft hair curled in

rings about his neck: very little of it remained on the crown of his

head. The sound of Akím's voice was very agreeable, although weak; in

his youth he had been a capital singer, but his long journeys in the

open air, in winter, had impaired his lungs. On the other hand, he spoke

very fluently and sweetly. When he laughed, ray-like wrinkles, very

pleasant to behold, spread themselves out around his eyes;--such

wrinkles are to be seen only in kind people. Akím's movements were

generally slow and not devoid of a certain self-confidence and sedate

courtesy, as was befitting a man of experience who had seen much in his

day.

In fact, Akím would have been all right,--or, as they called him even in

the manor-house, whither he was wont to go frequently, as well as

unfailingly on Sundays after the morning service in church, Akím

Semyónovitch,[36]--would have been all right in every respect had he not

had one failing, which has ruined many men on this earth, and in the

end ruined him also--a weakness for the female sex. Akím's amorousness

went to extremes: his heart was utterly unable to resist a feminine

glance; he melted in it, as the first autumnal snow melts in the sun

.... and he had to pay dearly for his superfluous sensibility.

In the course of the first year after he had settled down upon the

highway, Akím was so occupied with the building of his inn, with the

installation of his establishment, and with all the worries which are

inseparable from all new households, that he positively had not time to

think of women, and if any sinful thoughts did enter his head, he

promptly expelled them by the perusal of divers holy books, for which he

cherished a great respect (he had taught himself to read and write

during his first trip as carrier), by chanting the Psalms in an

undertone, or by some other pious occupation. Moreover, he was already

in his forty-sixth year,--and at that age all passions sensibly calm

down and grow cool; and the time for marrying was past. Akím himself had

begun to think that that folly, as he expressed it, had broken loose

from him ... but evidently no man can escape his fate.

Akím's former owner, Lizavéta Prókhorovna Kuntze, who had been left a

widow by her husband, a staff-officer of German extraction, was herself

a native of the town of Mittau, where she had passed the early days of

her childhood, and where she still had a very numerous and needy

family, concerning whom, however, she troubled herself very little,

especially since one of her brothers, an officer in an army infantry

regiment, had unexpectedly presented himself at her house and on the

following day had raised such an uproar that he had all but thrashed the

mistress of the house herself, and had addressed her, into the bargain,

as "_du Lumpenmamsell!_" while on the preceding evening he had himself

called her in broken Russian: "sister and benefactress." Lizavéta

Prókhorovna hardly ever left the nice little estate acquired by the

efforts of her spouse, who had been an architect;[37] she herself

managed it, and managed it far from badly. Lizavéta Prókhorovna did not

let slip the smallest source of profit; she derived advantage to herself

from everything; and in this point, as well as in that of remarkable

cleverness in making one kopék serve instead of two, her German

nationality betrayed itself; in everything else she had become extremely

Russified. She had a considerable number of domestic serfs; in

particular, she kept a great many maids, who, however, did not eat the

bread of idleness: from morning until night their backs were bowed over

work.[38] She was fond of driving out in her carriage with liveried

lackeys on the foot-board; she was fond of having people retail gossip

to her and play the sycophant; and she herself was a first-rate gossip;

she was fond of loading a man down with her favours, and suddenly

stunning him with disgrace--in a word, Lizavéta Prókhorovna conducted

herself exactly like a nobly-born dame.--She favoured Akím,--he paid her

a good round quit-rent with punctuality,--she chatted graciously with

him, and even, in jest, invited him to be her guest ... but it was

precisely in the manor-house that calamity awaited Akím.

Among the number of Lizavéta Prókhorovna's maids, there was one young

girl of twenty, an orphan, Dunyásha by name. She was not ill-favoured,

was well formed and clever; her features, although not regular, were

calculated to please; her fresh complexion, her thick, fair hair, her

red lips, and a certain dashing, half-sneering, half-challenging

expression of face, were all quite charming in their way. Moreover, in

spite of her orphaned state, she bore herself staidly, almost haughtily;

she was descended from an ancient line of house-serfs; her late father,

Aréfy, had been major-domo for thirty years, and her grandfather,

Stepán, had served as valet to a gentleman long since deceased, a

sergeant of the Guards and a prince. She dressed neatly, and was proud

of her hands, which really were extremely handsome. Dunyásha showed

great disdain for all her admirers, listened to their sweet sayings with

a conceited smile, and if she answered them, it was chiefly by

exclamation only, in the nature of: "Yes! certainly! catch me doing

that! the idea!"... These exclamations scarcely ever left her tongue.

Dunyásha had spent about three years in Moscow, under instruction, where

she had acquired those peculiar grimaces and manners which characterise

chambermaids who have sojourned in the capitals. People spoke of her as

a conceited girl (a great encomium in the mouths of domestics) who,

although she had seen much of life, had not lowered her dignity. She

sewed far from badly, moreover; but, nevertheless, Lizavéta Prókhorovna

had no particular liking for her, thanks to the head maid, Kiríllovna, a

woman no longer young, sly, and fond of intrigue. Kiríllovna profited by

her great influence over her mistress, and contrived very artfully to

keep rivals out of the way.

And it was with this Dunyásha that Akím fell in love! And in a way such

as he had never loved before. He beheld her for the first time in

church; she had only just returned from Moscow;.... then he met her

several times in the manor-house; at last he spent a whole evening with

her at the overseer's, whither he had been invited to tea, along with

other honourable personages. The house-serfs did not look down on him,

although he did not belong to their social class, and wore a beard;[39]

but he was a cultured man, could read and write, and--chief thing of

all--he had money; moreover, he did not dress in peasant fashion, but

wore a long kaftan of black cloth, boots of dressed calf-leather, and a

small kerchief round his neck. To tell the truth, some of the

house-serfs did make remarks among themselves to the effect, "'t is

plain, nevertheless, that he is not one of us," but to his face they

almost flattered him. That evening at the overseer's, Dunyásha completed

the conquest of Akím's amorous heart, although she positively did not

reply by a single word to all his ingratiating speeches, and only now

and then cast a side-long glance at him, as though astonished at seeing

that peasant there. All this only inflamed Akím the more. He went off

home, thought, and thought, and made up his mind to obtain her hand....

So thoroughly had she "bewitched" him. But how shall we describe

Dunyásha's wrath and indignation when, five days later, Kiríllovna,

affectionately calling her into her room, announced to her that Akím

(and evidently he had understood how to set about the business),--that

that beard-wearer and peasant Akím, to sit beside whom she had regarded

as an insult,--was courting her!

At first Dunyásha flushed hot all over, then she emitted a forced

laugh, then fell to weeping; but Kiríllovna conducted the attack so

artfully, so clearly made her feel her position in the house, so

cleverly hinted at Akím's decent appearance, wealth, and blind devotion,

and, in conclusion, so significantly alluded to the mistress's own

wishes, that Dunyásha left the room with hesitation depicted on her

face, and encountering Akím, merely gazed intently into his eyes, but

did not turn away. The fabulously lavish gifts of this enamoured man

dispelled her last doubts.... Lizavéta Prókhorovna, to whom Akím, in his

joy, had presented a hundred peaches on a large silver salver, gave her

consent to his marriage with Dunyásha, and the wedding took place. Akím

spared no expense--and the bride, who on the eve of the wedding had sat

in the maids' room like one on the verge of expiring, and had done

nothing but cry on the very morning of the wedding, while Kiríllovna was

dressing her for the ceremony, was speedily comforted.... Her mistress

gave her her own shawl to wear in church--and that very same day Akím

gave her another of the same sort, only almost better.

So then Akím married, and transported his young wife to his inn.... They

began to live. Dunyásha proved to be a bad housekeeper, a poor helpmeet

for her husband. She never looked after anything, she grieved, was

bored, unless some passing officer was attentive to her and paid court

to her, as he sat behind the capacious samovár; she frequently absented

herself, sometimes going to the town to shop, sometimes to the

mistress's manor-house, which lay four versts distant from the inn. In

the manor-house she refreshed herself; there people of her own sort

surrounded her; the maids envied her smart attire; Kiríllovna treated

her to tea; Lizavéta Prókhorovna herself chatted with her.... But even

these visits did not pass off without bitter emotions for Dunyásha....

For instance, being a house-serf, she was not allowed to wear a bonnet,

and was obliged to muffle her head up in a kerchief .... "like a

merchant's wife," as the crafty Kiríllovna said to her.... "Like the

wife of a petty burgher," thought Dunyásha to herself.

More than once there recurred to Akím's mind the words of his only

relative, an aged uncle, an inveterate peasant, a man without family or

land: "Well, brother, Akímushka," he had said to him, when he met him in

the street, "I have heard that thou 'rt a-courting...."

"Well, yes, I am; what of it?"

"Ekh, Akím, Akím! Thou 'rt no mate for us peasants now, there 's no

denying it; neither is she a mate for thee."

"But why is n't she a mate for me?"

"Why, for this reason, at least,"--returned the other, pointing to

Akím's beard, which he, to please his bride, had begun to clip

close--he would not consent to shave it off entirely.... Akím dropped

his eyes; and the old man turned away, wrapped about him the skirts of

his sheepskin coat, which was ragged on the shoulders, and went his way,

shaking his head.

Yes, more than once did Akím grow pensive, grunt and sigh.... But his

love for his pretty wife did not diminish; he was proud of her,

especially when he compared her, not only with the other peasant women,

or with his former wife, whom he had married at the age of sixteen, but

with the other maids of the house-serf class: as much as to say: "Just

see what sort of a bird we 've captured!".... Her slightest caress

afforded him great pleasure... "Perhaps," he thought to himself, "she

'll get used to me, she 'll grow accustomed to her new life..."

Moreover, she conducted herself very well, and no one could say an evil

word concerning her.

Several years passed in this manner. Dunyásha really did end by becoming

used to her existence. The older Akím grew, the more attached he became

to her, and the more he trusted her; her friends, who had married men

not of the peasant class, suffered dire need, or were in distress, or

had fallen into evil hands.... But Akím continued to wax richer and

richer. He succeeded in everything--he was lucky; only one thing grieved

him: God had not given him any children. Dunyásha was already in her

twenty-fifth year; every one had come to call her Avdótya Aréfyevna.[40]

Nevertheless, she had not become a good housewife.--But she had come to

love her home, she attended to the stores of provisions, she looked

after the servant-maids.... Truth to tell, she did all this in an

indifferent way, and did not exercise the proper oversight as to

cleanliness and order; but, on the other hand, in the principal room of

the inn, alongside the portrait of Akím, hung her portrait, painted in

oils and ordered by her from a home-bred artist, the son of the parish

deacon.--She was represented in a white gown and a yellow shawl, with

six rows of large pearls on her neck, long earrings in her ears, and

rings on every finger... It was possible to recognise her,--although the

painter had depicted her as extremely corpulent and rosy-cheeked, and

had painted her eyes black instead of grey, and even a trifle

squinting... He had not succeeded at all with Akím: the latter had,

somehow, turned out very dark--_à la Rembrandt_,--so that a traveller

would sometimes step up and stare at it, and merely bellow a bit.

Avdótya had begun to dress with a good deal of carelessness; she would

throw a large kerchief over her shoulders, and the gown under it would

fit anyhow; indolence had taken possession of her, that sighing,

languid, sleepy indolence to which Russians are but too greatly

inclined, especially when their existence is assured.....

Nevertheless, the affairs of Akím and his wife throve very well; they

lived in concord, and bore the reputation of being an exemplary married

pair. But, like the squirrel which is cleaning its nose at the very

moment when the arrow is aimed at it, a man has no foreboding of his own

disaster--and suddenly down he crashes, as though on the ice....

One autumn evening a merchant with dry-goods stopped at Akím's inn. He

was making his way, by devious roads, with two loaded kibítkas, from

Moscow to Khárkoff; he was one of those peddlers whom the wives and

daughters of landed proprietors sometimes await with so much impatience.

With this peddler, already an elderly man, were travelling two comrades,

or, to put it more accurately, two workmen--one pale, thin, hump-backed,

the other a stately, handsome young fellow of twenty. They ordered

supper, then sat down to drink tea; the peddler invited the landlord and

landlady to drink a cup with him--and they did not refuse. A

conversation was speedily under way between the two old men (Akím had

seen his fifty-sixth birthday); the peddler was making inquiries

concerning the neighbouring landed proprietors,--and no one could

impart to him all necessary details about them better than could Akím.

The hump-backed labourer kept continually going out to look at the

carts, and at last took himself off to sleep; Avdótya was left to chat

with the other labourer.... She sat beside him and talked little, and

chiefly listened to what he narrated to her; but evidently his remarks

pleased her; her face grew animated, a flush played over her cheeks, and

she laughed quite often and readily. The young labourer sat almost

motionless, with his curly head bent toward the table; he spoke softly

without raising his voice, and without haste; on the other hand his

eyes, not large, but audaciously bright and blue, fairly bored into

Avdótya; at first she turned away from them, then she began to gaze into

his face. The young fellow's face was as fresh and smooth as a Crimean

apple; he smiled frequently and drummed his white fingers on his white

chin, already covered with sparse, dark down. He expressed himself after

the merchant fashion, but with great ease, and with a certain careless

self-confidence--and kept staring at her all the while with the same

insistent and insolent look.... Suddenly he moved a little closer to

her, and without changing the expression of his face in the least, he

said to her: "Avdótya Aréfyevna, there 's nobody in the world nicer than

you; I 'm ready to die for you, I do believe."

Avdótya laughed loudly.

"What 's the matter with thee?"--Akím asked her.

"Why, this man here is telling such absurd things,"--she said, but

without any special confusion.

The old peddler grinned.

"He, he, yes, ma'am; that Naúm of mine is such a joker, sir. But you

must n't listen to him, ma'am."

"Yes, certainly! as if I would listen to him,"--she replied, and shook

her head.

"He, he, of course, ma'am,"--remarked the old man.--"Well, but,"--he

added in a drawl,--"good-bye, I 'm much obliged, ma'am, but now 't is

time to go to roost, ma'am...." And he rose to his feet.

"And we are much obliged, sir, too, sir,"--said Akím also,--"for the

entertainment, that is to say; but now we wish you good night, sir.

Rise, Avdótyushka."

Avdótya rose, as though reluctantly, and after her Naúm rose also ....

and all dispersed.

The landlord and landlady betook themselves to the small, closet-like

room which served them as a bedroom. Akím set to snoring instantly.

Avdótya could not get to sleep for a long time.... At first she lay

still, with her face turned to the wall, then she began to toss about on

the hot feather-bed, now throwing off, now drawing up the coverlet ....

then she fell into a light doze. All of a sudden, a man's loud voice

resounded in the yard; it was singing some slow but not mournful song,

the words of which could not be distinguished. Avdótya opened her eyes,

raised herself on her elbow, and began to listen.... The song still went

on.... It poured forth sonorously on the autumnal air.

Akím raised his head.

"Who 's that singing?"--he inquired.

"I don't know,"--she replied.

"He sings well,"--he added, after a brief pause.--"Well. What a strong

voice. I used to sing in my day,"--he continued,--"and I sang well, but

my voice is ruined. But that 's a fine singer. It must be that young

fellow singing. Naúm is his name, I think."--And he turned over on his

other side--drew a deep breath, and fell asleep again.

The voice did not cease for a long time thereafter.... Avdótya continued

to listen and listen; at last it suddenly broke off short, as it were,

then uttered one more wild shout, and slowly died away. Avdótya crossed

herself, and laid her head on the pillow.... Half an hour elapsed....

She raised herself and began softly to get out of bed....

"Whither art thou going, wife?"--Akím asked her through his sleep.

She stopped short.

"To adjust the shrine-lamp,"[41]--she answered; "somehow or other I

can't sleep."

"Thou hadst better say thy prayers,"--stammered Akím as he fell asleep.

Avdótya went to the shrine-lamp, began to adjust it, and incautiously

extinguished it; she returned and lay down in bed. Silence reigned.

Early on the following morning the merchant set out on his way with his

companions. Avdótya was sleeping. Akím escorted them for about half a

verst; he was obliged to go to the mill. On returning home he found his

wife already dressed, and no longer alone; with her was the young fellow

of the previous evening, Naúm. They were standing by the table, near the

window, and talking together. On catching sight of Akím, Avdótya

silently left the room, but Naúm said that he had returned for his

master's mittens, which the latter had forgotten on the bench, and he

also left the room.

We shall now inform our readers of that which they, no doubt, have

already divined without our aid: Avdótya had fallen passionately in love

with Naúm. How this could come to pass so quickly, it is difficult to

explain; it is all the more difficult, in that, up to that time, she had

behaved in an irreproachable manner, notwithstanding numerous

opportunities and temptations to betray her marital vows. Later on,

when her relations with Naúm became public, many persons in the

countryside declared that on that very first evening he had put some

magic herb into her tea (people with us still believe firmly in the

efficacy of this method), and that this was very readily to be discerned

in Avdótya, who, they said, very soon thereafter began to grow thin and

bored.

However that may be, at all events Naúm began to be frequently seen at

Akím's inn. First, he journeyed past with that same merchant, but three

months later he made his appearance alone, with his own wares; then a

rumour became current that he had taken up his residence in one of the

near-by towns of the county, and from that time forth not a week passed

that his stout, painted cart, drawn by a pair of plump horses which he

drove himself, did not make its appearance on the highway.

There was no great friendship between him and Akím, but no hostility

between them was apparent; Akím paid no great attention to him, and knew

nothing about him, except that he was an intelligent young fellow, who

had started out boldly. He did not suspect Avdótya's real feelings, and

continued to trust her as before.

Thus passed two years more.

Then, one summer day, before dinner, about one o'clock, Lizavéta

Prókhorovna, who precisely during the course of those two years had

somehow suddenly grown wrinkled and sallow, despite all sorts of

massage, rouge, and powder,--Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with her lap-dog and

her folding parasol, strolled forth for a walk in her neat little German

park. Lightly rustling her starched gown, she was walking with mincing

steps along the sanded path, between two rows of dahlias drawn up in

military array, when suddenly she was overtaken by our old acquaintance,

Kiríllovna, who respectfully announced that a certain merchant from B***

desired to see her on a very important matter. Kiríllovna, as of yore,

enjoyed the mistress's favour (in reality, _she_ managed the estate of

Madame Kuntze), and some time previously had received permission to wear

a white mob-cap, which imparted still more harshness to the thin

features of her swarthy face.

"A merchant?"--inquired the lady. "What does he want?"

"I don't know, ma'am, what he wants,"--replied Kiríllovna in a wheedling

voice;--"but, apparently, he wishes to purchase something from you,

ma'am."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna returned to the drawing-room, seated herself in her

customary place, an arm-chair with a canopy, over which ivy meandered

prettily, and ordered the merchant from B*** to be summoned.

Naúm entered, made his bow, and halted at the door.

"I have heard that you wish to buy something from me,"--began Lizavéta

Prókhorovna, and thought to herself the while:--"What a handsome man

this merchant is!"

"Exactly so, ma'am."

"And precisely what is it?"

"Will you not deign to sell your inn?"

"What inn?"

"Why, the one which stands on the highway, not far from here."

"But that inn does not belong to me. That is Akím's inn."

"Why is n't it yours? It stands on your land, ma'am."

"Assuming that the land is mine .... bought in my name; still the inn is

his."

"Just so, ma'am. So then, won't you sell it to us, ma'am?"

"I am to sell it?"

"Just so, ma'am. And we would pay a good price for it."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna maintained silence for a while.

"Really, this is strange,"--she began again; "what are you saying? But

how much would you give?"--she added.--"That is to say, I am not asking

for myself, but for Akím."

"Why, with all the buildings and, ma'am, dependencies, ma'am ... well

... and, of course, with the land attached to the inn, we would give two

thousand rubles, ma'am."

"Two thousand rubles! That 's very little,"--replied Lizavéta

Prókhorovna.

"That 's the proper price, ma'am."

"But, have you talked it over with Akím?"

"Why should we talk with him, ma'am? The inn is yours, so we have

thought best to discuss it with you, ma'am."

"But I have already told you .... really, this is astonishing! How is it

that you do not understand me?"

"Why don't we understand, ma'am? We do."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna looked at Naúm, Naúm looked at Lizavéta

Prókhorovna.

"How is it to be, then, ma'am?"--he began:--"what proposal have you to

make on your side, that is to say, ma'am?"

"On my side ...." Lizavéta Prókhorovna fidgeted about in her

easy-chair.--"In the first place, I tell you that two thousand is not

enough, and in the second place ...."

"We 'll add a hundred, if you like."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna rose.

"I see that you are talking at cross-purposes, and I have already told

you that I cannot and will not sell that inn. I cannot .... that is to

say, I will not."

Naúm smiled and made no reply for a while.

"Well, as you like, ma'am ...." he remarked, with a slight shrug of the

shoulders;--"I will bid you good-day, ma'am."--And he made his bow, and

grasped the door-handle.

Lizavéta Prókhorovna turned toward him.

"However,...." she said, with barely perceptible hesitation,--"you need

not go just yet."--She rang the bell; Kiríllovna made her appearance

from the boudoir.

"Kiríllovna, order the servants to give the merchant tea.--I will see

you later on,"--she added, with a slight inclination of her head.

Naúm bowed again, and left the room in company with Kiríllovna.

Lizavéta Prókhorovna paced up and down the room a couple of times, then

rang the bell again. This time a page entered. She ordered him to summon

Kiríllovna. In a few moments Kiríllovna entered, with barely a squeak of

her new goat's-leather shoes.

"Didst thou hear,"--began Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with a constrained

smile,--"what that merchant is proposing to me? Such a queer man,

really!"

"No, ma'am, I did n't hear.... What is it, ma'am?"--And Kiríllovna

slightly narrowed her little, black, Kalmýk eyes.

"He wants to buy Akím's inn from me."

"And what of that, ma'am?"

"Why, seest thou .... But how about Akím? I have given it to Akím."

"And, good gracious, my lady, what is it you are pleased to say? Is n't

that inn yours? Are n't we your property, pray? And everything we

have,--is n't that also the property of the mistress?"

"Mercy me, what 's that thou 'rt saying, Kiríllovna?"--Lizavéta

Prókhorovna got out her batiste handkerchief and nervously blew her

nose.--"Akím bought that inn out of his own money."

"Out of his own money? And where did he get that money?--Was n't it

through your kindness? And, then, see how long he has enjoyed the use of

the land.... Surely, all this is through your kindness. And do you

think, madam, that even so he will not have more money left? Why, he 's

richer than you are, as God is my witness, ma'am!"

"All that is so, of course, but, nevertheless, I cannot.... How am I to

sell that inn?"

"But why not sell it, ma'am?"--went on Kiríllovna.--"Luckily, a

purchaser has turned up. Permit me to inquire, ma'am, how much does he

offer you?"

"Over two thousand rubles,"--said Lizavéta Prókhorovna, softly.

"He 'll give more, madam, if he offers two thousand at the first word.

And you can settle with Akím afterward; you can reduce his quit-rent, I

suppose.--He will still be grateful."

"Of course, his quit-rent must be reduced. But no, Kiríllovna; how can I

sell?..." And Lizavéta Prókhorovna paced up and down the room.... "No,

it is impossible; it is n't right;.... no; please say no more to me

about it ... or I shall get angry...."

But in spite of the prohibition of the excited Lizavéta Prókhorovna,

Kiríllovna continued to talk, and half an hour later she returned to

Naúm, whom she had left in the butler's pantry with the samovár.

"What have you to tell me, my most respected?"--said Naúm, foppishly

turning his empty cup upside down on his saucer.

"This is what I have to tell you,"--returned Kiríllovna:--"that you are

to go to the mistress; she bids you come."

"I obey, ma'am,"--replied Naúm, rising, and followed Kiríllovna to the

drawing-room.

The door closed behind them.... When, at last, that door opened again

and Naúm backed out of it bowing, the matter was already settled; Akím's

inn belonged to him; he had acquired it for two thousand eight hundred

rubles in bank-bills.[42] They had decided to complete the deed of sale

as promptly as possible, and not to announce the sale until that was

accomplished; Lizavéta Prókhorovna had received one hundred rubles as

deposit, and two hundred rubles went to Kiríllovna as commission.

"I have got it at a bargain,"--thought Naúm, as he climbed into his

cart; "I 'm glad it turned out well."

At that very time, when the bargain which we have described was being

effected at the manor-house, Akím was sitting alone on the wall-bench

under the window, in his own room, and stroking his beard with an air of

displeasure.... We have stated above that he did not suspect his wife's

fondness for Naúm, although kind persons had, more than once, hinted to

him that it was high time for him to listen to reason; of course, he

himself was sometimes able to observe that his housewife, for some time

past, had become more restive; but then, all the world knows that the

female sex is vain and capricious. Even when it really seemed to him

that something was wrong, he merely waved it from him; he did not wish,

as the saying is, to raise a row; his good-nature had not diminished

with the years, and, moreover, indolence was making itself felt. But on

that day he was very much out of sorts; on the previous evening he had

unexpectedly overheard on the street a conversation between his

maid-servant and another woman, one of his neighbours....

The woman had asked his maid-servant why she had not run in to see her

on the evening of the holiday. "I was expecting thee," she said.

"Why, I would have come,"--replied the maid-servant,--"but, shameful to

say, I caught the mistress at her capers .... bad luck to her!"

"Thou didst catch her ...." repeated the peasant-wife in a

peculiarly-drawling tone, propping her cheek on her hand.--"And where

didst thou catch her, my mother?"

"Why, behind the hemp-patches--the priest's hemp-patches. The mistress,

seest thou, had gone out to the hemp-patches to meet that fellow of

hers, that Naúm, and I could n't see in the dark, whether because of the

moonlight, or what not, the Lord knows, and so I ran right against

them."

"Thou didst run against them,"--repeated the peasant-wife again.--"Well,

and what was she doing, my mother? Was she standing with him?"

"She was standing, right enough. He was standing and she was standing.

She caught sight of me, and says she: 'Whither art thou running to? Take

thyself off home.' So I went."

"Thou wentest."--The peasant-wife was silent for a space.--"Well,

good-bye, Fetíniushka,"--she said, and went her way.

This conversation had produced an unpleasant effect on Akím. His

love for Avdótya had already grown cold, but, nevertheless, the

maid-servant's words displeased him. And she had told the truth: as a

matter of fact, Avdótya had gone out that evening to meet Naúm, who had

waited for her in the dense shadow which fell upon the road from the

tall and motionless hemp-patch. The dew had drenched its every stalk

from top to bottom; the scent, powerful to the point of oppressiveness,

lay all around. The moon had only just risen, huge and crimson, in the

dim and the blackish mist. Naúm had heard Avdótya's hasty footsteps from

afar, and had advanced to meet her. She reached him all pale with

running; the moon shone directly in her face.

"Well, how now; hast thou brought it?"--he asked her.

"Yes, I have,"--she replied in an irresolute tone:--"but, Naúm

Ivánovitch, what ...."

"Give it here, if thou hast brought it,"--he interrupted her, stretching

out his hand.

She drew from beneath her kerchief on her neck some sort of packet. Naúm

instantly grasped it and thrust it into his breast.

"Naúm Ivánitch,"--enunciated Avdótya, slowly, and without taking her

eyes from him.... "Okh, Naúm Ivánitch, I am ruining my soul for

thee...."

At that moment the maid-servant had come upon them.

So, then, Akím was sitting on the wall-bench and stroking his beard with

his dissatisfaction. Avdótya kept entering the house and leaving it. He

merely followed her with his eyes. At last she entered yet again, and

taking a warm wadded jacket from the little room, she was already

crossing the threshold; but he could endure it no longer, and began to

talk, as though to himself:

"I wonder,"--he began,--"what makes these women-folks always so fidgety?

That they should sit still in one spot is something that can't be

demanded of them. That 's no affair of theirs. But what they do love is

to be running off somewhere or other, morning or evening.--Yes."

Avdótya heard her husband's speech out to the end without changing her

attitude; only, at the word "evening," she moved her head a mere trifle,

and seemed to become thoughtful.

"Well, Semyónitch,"--she said at last, with irritation,--"'t is well

known that when thou beginnest to talk, why...."

She waved her hand and departed, slamming the door behind her. Avdótya

did not, in fact, hold Akím's eloquence in high esteem, and it sometimes

happened, when he undertook of an evening to argue with the travellers,

or began to tell stories, she would yawn quietly or walk out of the

room. Akím stared at the closed door.... "When thou beginnest to talk,"

he repeated in an undertone .... "that 's exactly it, that I have talked

very little with thee.... And who art thou? My equal, and, moreover

...." And he rose, meditated, and dealt himself a blow on the nape of

his neck with his clenched fist....

A few days passed after this day in a decidedly queer manner. Akím kept

on staring at his wife, as though he were preparing to say something to

her; and she, on her side, darted suspicious glances at him; moreover,

both of them maintained a constrained silence; this silence, however,

was generally broken by some snappish remark from Akím about some

neglect in the housekeeping, or on the subject of women in general;

Avdótya, for the most part, did not answer him with a single word. But,

despite all Akím's good-natured weakness, matters would infallibly have

come to a decisive explanation between him and Avdótya had it not been

for the fact that, at last, an incident occurred, after which all

explanations would have been superfluous.

Namely, one morning, Akím and his wife were just preparing to take a

light meal after the noon hour (there was not a single traveller in the

inn, after the summer labours), when suddenly a small cart rumbled

energetically along the road, and drew up at the porch. Akím glanced

through the small window, frowned, and dropped his eyes; from the cart,

without haste, Naúm alighted. Avdótya did not see him, but when his

voice resounded in the anteroom, the spoon trembled weakly in her hand.

He ordered the hired man to put his horse in the yard. At last the door

flew wide open, and he entered the room.

"Morning,"--he said, and doffed his cap.

"Morning,"--repeated Akím through his teeth.--"Whence has God brought

thee?"

"From the neighbourhood,"--returned the other, seating himself on the

wall-bench.--"I come from the lady-mistress."

"From the mistress,"--said Akím, still not rising from his seat.--"On

business, pray?"

"Yes, on business. Avdótya Aréfyevna, our respects to you."

"Good morning, Naúm,"--she replied.

All remained silent for a space.

"What have you there--some sort of porridge, I suppose?"--began Naúm....

"Yes, porridge,"--retorted Akím, and suddenly paled:--"but it is n't for

thee."

Naúm darted a glance of astonishment at Akím.

"Why is n't it for me?"

"Why, just because it is n't for thee."--Akím's eyes began to flash, and

he smote the table with his fist.--"There is nothing in my house for

thee, dost hear me?"

"What ails thee, Semyónitch, what ails thee? What 's the matter with

thee?"

"There 's nothing the matter with me, but I 'm tired of _thee_, Naúm

Ivánitch, that 's what."--The old man rose to his feet, trembling all

over.--"Thou hast taken to haunting my house altogether too much, that

's what."

Naúm also rose to his feet.

"Thou hast gone crazy, brother, I do believe,"--he said with a

smile.--"Avdótya Aréfyevna, what 's the matter with him?"...

"I tell thee,"--yelled Akím, in a quivering voice,--"get out. Dost hear

me?.... What hast thou to do with Avdótya Aréfyevna?.... Begone, I tell

thee! Dost hear me?"

"What 's that thou art saying to me?"--inquired Naúm, significantly.

"Take thyself away from here; that 's what I 'm saying to thee. There is

God, and there is the threshold .... dost understand? or 't will be the

worse for thee!"

Naúm strode forward.

"Good heavens, don't fight, my dear little doves,"--stammered Avdótya,

who until then had remained sitting motionless at the table....

Naúm cast a glance at her.

"Don't worry, Avdótya Aréfyevna, why should we fight! Ek-sta,

brother,"--he continued, addressing Akím:--"thou hast deafened me with

thy yells. Really. What an insolent fellow thou art! Did any one

ever hear of such a thing as expelling a man from another man's

house,"--added Naúm, with deliberate enunciation:--"and the master of

the house, into the bargain?"

"What dost thou mean by another man's house?"--muttered Akím.--"What

master of the house?"

"Why, me, for example."

And Naúm screwed up his eyes, and displayed his white teeth in a grin.

"Thee, forsooth? Ain't I the master of the house?"

"What a stupid fellow thou art, my good fellow.--I am the master of the

house, I tell thee."

Akím opened his eyes to their widest.

"What nonsense is that thou art prating, as though thou hadst eaten

mad-wort?"--he said at last.--"How the devil dost thou come to be the

master?"

"Well, what 's the use of talking to thee,"--shouted Naúm,

impatiently.--"Dost see this document,"--he added, jerking out of his

pocket a sheet of stamped paper folded in four:--"dost see it? This is a

deed of sale, understand, a deed of sale for thy land, and for the inn;

I have bought them from the landed proprietress, Lizavéta Prókhorovna.

We signed the deed of sale yesterday, in B***--consequently, I am the

master here, not thou. Gather up thy duds this very day,"--he added,

putting the paper back in his pocket;--"and let there be not a sign of

thee here by to-morrow; hearest thou?"

Akím stood as though he had been struck by lightning.

"Brigand!"--he moaned at last;--"the brigand... Hey, Fédka, Mítka, wife,

wife, seize him, seize him--hold him!"

He had completely lost his wits.

"Look out, look out,"--ejaculated Naúm, menacingly:--"look out, old

man, don't play the fool...."

"But beat him, beat him, wife!"--Akím kept repeating in a tearful voice,

vainly and impotently trying to leave his place.--"The soul-ruiner, the

brigand... She was n't enough for thee ... thou wantest to take my house

away from me also, and everything.... But no, stay .... that cannot

be.... I will go myself. I will tell her myself ... how .... but why

sell?... Stop .... stop...."

And he rushed hatless into the street.

"Whither art thou running, Akím Ivánitch, whither art thou running, dear

little father?"--cried the maid-servant Fetínya, who collided with him

in the doorway.

"To the mistress! let me go! To the mistress...." roared Akím, and

catching sight of Naúm's cart, which the servants had not yet had time

to put in the stable-yard, he sprang into it, seized the reins, and

lashing the horse with all his might, he set off at a gallop to the

lady's manor-house.

"Dear little mother, Lizavéta Prókhorovna,"--he kept repeating to

himself all the way,--"why such unkindness? I have shown zeal,

methinks!"

And, in the meantime, he kept on beating the horse. Those who met him

drew aside and gazed long after him.

In a quarter of an hour Akím had reached Lizavéta Prókhorovna's manor,

had dashed up to the porch, had leaped from the cart, and burst straight

into the anteroom.

"What dost thou want?"--muttered the startled footman, who was sweetly

dozing on the locker.

"The mistress--I must see the mistress," vociferated Akím loudly.

The lackey was astounded.

"Has anything happened?"--he began.

"Nothing has happened, but I must see the mistress."

"What, what?"--said the lackey, more and more astounded, straightening

himself up.

Akím recovered himself... It was as though he had been drenched with

cold water.

"Announce to the mistress, Piótr Evgráfitch,"--he said, with a low

obeisance,--"that Akím wishes to see her...."

"Good,... I will go .... I will announce thee .... but evidently thou

art drunk. Wait,"--grumbled the lackey, and withdrew.

Akím dropped his eyes and became confused, as it were.... His boldness

had swiftly abandoned him from the very moment he had entered the

anteroom.

Lizavéta Prókhorovna was also disconcerted when Akím's arrival was

announced to her. She immediately gave orders that Kiríllovna should be

called to her in her boudoir.

"I cannot receive him,"--she said hurriedly, as soon as the latter made

her appearance;--"I cannot possibly do it. What can I say to him? Did

n't I tell thee that he would be sure to come and would complain?"--she

added, with vexation and agitation;--"I said so...."

"Why should you receive him, ma'am?"--calmly replied Kiríllovna;--"that

is not necessary, ma'am. Why should you disturb yourself, pray?"

"But what am I to do?"

"If you will permit me, I will talk with him."

Lizavéta Prókhorovna raised her head.

"Pray, do me the favour, Kiríllovna. Do talk with him. Do thou tell him

.... there--well, that I found it necessary ... and, moreover, that I

will make it up to him .... well, there now, thou knowest what to say.

Pray, do, Kiríllovna."

"Please do not fret, madam,"--returned Kiríllovna, and withdrew, with

squeaking shoes.

A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when their squeaking became audible

again, and Kiríllovna entered the boudoir with the same composed

expression on her face, with the same crafty intelligence in her eyes.

"Well,"--inquired her mistress,--"how about Akím?"

"'T is all right, ma'am. He says, ma'am, that everything is in your

power, he submits himself wholly to the will of your Graciousness, and

if only you keep well and prosperous, he will forever be satisfied with

his lot."

"And he made no complaint?"

"None whatever, ma'am. What was there for him to complain about?"

"But why did he come, then?"--said Lizavéta Prókhorovna, not without

some surprise.

"Why, he came to ask, ma'am, until he receives compensation, whether you

will not be so gracious as to remit his quit-rent for the coming year,

that is to say ...."

"Of course I will! I will remit it,"--put in Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with

vivacity;--"of course. And, tell him, in general terms, that I will

reward him. Well, I thank thee, Kiríllovna. And he is a good peasant, I

see. Stay,"--she added:--"here, give him this from me."--And she took

out of her work-table a three-ruble bill.--"Here, take this and give it

to him."

"I obey, ma'am,"--replied Kiríllovna, and coolly returning to her own

room, she coolly locked up the bank-bill in an iron-bound casket which

stood by the head of her bed; she kept in it all her ready money, and

the amount was not small.

Kiríllovna by her report had soothed her lady, but the conversation

between her and Akím had, in reality, not been precisely as she

represented it, but to wit: she had ordered him to be summoned to her in

the maids' hall. At first he refused to go to her, declaring that he did

not wish to see Kiríllovna, but Lizavéta Prókhorovna herself;

nevertheless, at last, he submitted, and wended his way through the back

door to Kiríllovna. He found her alone. On entering the room he came to

a halt at once, leaned against the wall near the door, and made an

effort to speak .... and could not.

Kiríllovna stared intently at him.

"Do you wish to see the mistress, Akím Semyónitch?"--she began.

He merely nodded his head.

"That is impossible, Akím Semyónitch. And what is the use? What is done

can't be undone, and you will only worry her. She cannot receive you

now, Akím Semyónitch."

"She cannot,"--he repeated, and paused for a space.--"Then how is it to

be,"--he said at last;--"that means that I must lose my house?"

"Hearken, Akím Semyónitch. I know that you have always been a reasonable

man. This is the mistress's will. And it cannot be changed. You cannot

alter it. There is nothing for you and me to discuss, for it will lead

to no result. Is n't that so?"

Akím put his hands behind his back.

"But you had better consider,"--went on Kiríllovna,--"whether you ought

not to ask the mistress to remit your quit-rent, had n't you?..."

"That means that I must lose the house,"--repeated Akím, in the same

tone as before.

"Akím Semyónitch, I 've told you already 't is impossible to change

that. You know that yourself even better than I do."

"Yes. But tell me, at any rate, how much my inn sold for?"

"I don't know that, Akím Semyónitch; I can't tell you.... But why do you

stand there?"--she added.--"Sit down...."

"I 'll stand as I am, ma'am. I 'm a peasant. I thank you humbly."

"Why do you say that you are a peasant, Akím Semyónitch? You are the

same as a merchant; you cannot be compared even with the house-serfs;

why do you say that? Don't decry yourself without cause. Won't you have

some tea?"

"No, thanks; I don't require it. And so my dear little house has become

your property,"--he added, quitting the wall.--"Thanks for that, also. I

will bid you good day, my little madam."

Thereupon he wheeled round, and left the room. Kiríllovna smoothed down

her apron, and betook herself to her mistress.

"So it appears that I actually have become a merchant,"--said Akím to

himself, as he paused in thought before the gate.--"A fine merchant!"

He waved his hand and laughed a bitter laugh.--"Well, I might as well go

home!"

And utterly oblivious of Naúm's horse, which he had driven thither, he

trudged along the road to the inn. Before he had covered the first

verst, he heard the rattle of a cart alongside of him.

"Akím, Akím Semyónitch!"--some one called to him.

He raised his eyes and beheld his acquaintance, the chanter of the

parish church, Efrém, nicknamed "The Mole," a small, round-shouldered

man, with a sharp-pointed little nose, and purblind eyes. He was sitting

in a rickety little cart on a whisp of straw, with his breast leaning on

the driver's seat.

"Art thou on thy way home, pray?"--he asked Akím.

Akím halted.

"Yes."

"I 'll drive you there,--shall I?"

"All right, do."

Efrém moved aside, and Akím clambered into the cart. Efrém, who was

jolly with drink, it appeared, set to lashing his miserable little nag

with the ends of his rope reins; the horse advanced at a weary trot,

incessantly twitching her unbridled muzzle.

They drove about a verst, without saying one word to each other. Akím

sat with bowed head, and Efrém merely mumbled something to himself, now

stimulating the horse to greater speed, now reining it in.

"Whither hast thou been without a hat, Semyónitch?"--he suddenly

asked Akím, and, without waiting for a reply, he went on in an

undertone:--"thou hast left it in a nice little dram-shop, that 's what.

Thou 'rt a tippler; I know thee, and I love thee because thou art a

tippler--'t was high time, long ago, to place thee under ecclesiastical

censure, God is my witness; because 't is a bad business....

Hurrah!"--he shouted suddenly, at the top of his lungs,--"hurrah!

hurrah!"

"Halt! halt!"--rang out a woman's voice close at hand.--"Halt!"

Akím glanced round. Across the fields, in the direction of the cart, a

woman was running, so pale and dishevelled that he did not recognise her

at first.

"Halt, halt!"--she moaned again, panting and waving her arms.

Akím shuddered: it was his wife.

He seized the reins.

"And why should we halt?"--muttered Efrém;--"why should we halt for a

female? Get u-uup!"

But Akím jerked the horse abruptly on its haunches.

At that moment Avdótya reached the road, and fairly tumbled headlong,

face downward, in the dust.

"Dear little father, Akím Semyónitch,"--she shrieked;--"he has actually

turned me out of doors!"

Akím gazed at her, and did not move, but merely drew the reins still

more taut.

"Hurrah!"--cried Efrém again.

"And so he has turned thee out?"--said Akím.

"He has, dear little father, my dear little dove," replied Avdótya,

sobbing.--"He has turned me out, dear little father. 'The house is mine

now,' says he; 'so get out,' says he."

"Capital, that 's just fine ... capital!"--remarked Efrém.

"And thou wert counting on remaining, I suppose?"--said Akím, bitterly,

as he continued to sit in the cart.

"Remain, indeed! Yes, dear little father,"--put in Avdótya, who had

raised herself on her knees, and again beat her brow against the

ground;--"for thou dost not know, seest thou, I.... Kill me, Akím

Semyónitch, kill me here, on the spot...."

"Why should I beat thee, Aréfyevna!"--replied Akím, dejectedly:--"thou

hast vanquished thyself! what more is there to say?"

"But what wilt thou think, Akím Semyónitch.... Why, the money .... was

thy money.... It is gone, thy money... For I took it, accursed that I

am, I got it from the cellar..... I gave it all to that man, that

villain, that Naúm, accursed creature that I am!... And why didst thou

tell me where thou hadst hidden thy money, wretched being that I am!....

For he bought the inn with thy money .... the villain...."

Sobs drowned her voice.

Akím clutched his head with both hands.

"What!"--he screamed at last;--"and so all the money too ... the money,

and the inn, thou hast.... Ah! thou hast got it from the cellar ....

from the cellar.... Yes, I will kill thee, thou brood of vipers!..."

And he leaped from the cart....

"Semyónitch, Semyónitch, don't beat her, don't fight,"--stammered Efrém,

whose intoxication began to dissipate at such an unexpected event.

"Yes, dear little father, kill me, kill me, dear little father, kill me,

the vile creature: beat away, don't heed him!"--shrieked Avdótya, as she

writhed convulsively at Akím's feet.

He stood awhile and stared at her, then retreated a few paces, and sat

down on the grass, by the roadside.

A brief silence ensued. Avdótya turned her head in his direction.

"Semyónitch, hey, Semyónitch!"--began Efrém, half-rising in the

cart;--"have done with that--that will do ... for thou canst not repair

the calamity. Phew, what an affair!"--he continued, as though to

himself;--"what a damned bad woman... Do thou go to him,"--he added,

bending over the cart-rail toward Avdótya;--"canst not see that he has

gone crazy?"

Avdótya rose, approached Akím and again fell at his feet.

"Dear little father,"--she began in a faint voice.

Akím rose and went back to the cart. She clutched the skirt of his

kaftan.

"Get away!"--he shouted fiercely, repulsing her.

"Whither art thou going?"--Efrém asked him, perceiving that he was

taking his seat again beside him.

"Why, thou didst offer to drive me to the inn,"--said Akím:--"so drive

me to thy house.... I have none any more, seest thou. They have bought

it from me, you know."

"Well, all right, let 's go to my house. And how about her?"

Akím made no answer.

"And me, me,"--chimed in Avdótya, weeping;--"to whose care dost thou

leave me .... whither am I to go?"

"Go to him,"--returned Akím, without turning round:--"to the man to

whom thou didst carry my money... Drive on, Efrém!"

Efrém whipped up the horse, the cart rolled off, and Avdótya set up a

shrill scream....

Efrém lived a verst from Akím's inn, in a tiny cot in the priest's

glebe, disposed around the solitary five-domed church, which had

recently been erected by the heirs of a wealthy merchant, in conformity

with his testamentary dispositions. Efrém did not speak to Akím all the

way, and only shook his head from time to time, uttering words of the

following nature: "Akh, thou!" and, "Ekh, thou!" Akím sat motionless,

slightly turned away from Efrém. At last they arrived. Efrém sprang out

first from the cart. A little girl of six years in a little chemise girt

low ran out to meet him, and screamed:

"Daddy! daddy!"

"And where is thy mother?"--Efrém asked her.

"She 's asleep in the kennel."

"Well, let her sleep. Akím Semyónitch, won't you please come into the

house?"

(It must be observed that Efrém addressed him as "thou" only when he was

intoxicated. Far more important persons than he addressed Akím as

"you.")

Akím entered the chanter's cottage.

"Pray, come hither to the bench,"--said Efrém.--"Run along, you little

rogues,"--he shouted at three other brats who, along with two emaciated

cats bespattered with ashes, suddenly made their appearance from various

corners of the room.--"Run away! Scat! Here, Akím Semyónitch, come

here,"--he went on, as he seated his guest:--"and would n't you like

something?"

"What shall I say to thee, Efrém?"--articulated Akím at last.--"Could

n't I have some liquor?"

Efrém gave a start.

"Liquor? Certainly. I have none in the house,--liquor, that is to

say,--but here, I 'll run at once to Father Feódor. He always has some

on hand..... I 'll be back in a jiffy...."

And he snatched up his large-eared cap.

"And bring as much as possible; I 'll pay for it,"--shouted Akím after

him.--"I still have money enough for that."

"In a jiffy,"... repeated Efrém once more, as he disappeared through the

door. He really did return very speedily with two quart bottles under

his arm, one of which was already uncorked, placed them on the table,

got out two small green glasses, the heel of a loaf, and salt.

"That 's what I love,"--he kept repeating, as he seated himself opposite

Akím.--"What 's the use of grieving?"--he filled the glasses for both

.... and set to babbling.... Avdótya's behaviour had stunned him.--"'T

is an astonishing affair, truly,"--said he:--"how did it come about? He

must have bewitched her to himself by magic .... hey? That 's what it

means, that a woman should be strictly watched! She ought to have had a

tight hand kept over her. And yet, it would n't be a bad thing for you

to go home; for you must have a lot of property left there, I

think."--And to many more speeches of the same sort did Efrém give

utterance; when he was drinking he did not like to hold his tongue.

An hour later, this is what took place in Efrém's house. Akím, who had

not replied by a single word, during the entire course of the

drinking-bout, to the interrogations and comments of his loquacious

host, and had merely drained glass after glass, was fast asleep on the

oven, all red in the face--in a heavy, anguished slumber; the youngsters

were wondering at him, while Efrém .... Alas! Efrém was asleep also, but

only in a very cramped and cold lumber-room, in which he had been locked

up by his wife, a woman of extremely masculine and robust build. He had

gone to her in the stable, and had begun to threaten her, if she

repeated something or other, but so incoherently and unintelligibly did

he express himself that she instantly divined what the trouble was,

grasped him by the collar, and led him to the proper place. However, he

slept very well and even comfortably in the lumber-room. Habit!

Kiríllovna had not reported her conversation with Akím very accurately

to Lizavéta Prókhorovna .... and the same may be said concerning

Avdótya. Naúm had not turned her out of the house, although she had told

Akím that he had done so; he had not the right to expel her.... He was

bound to give the former proprietors time to move out. Explanations of

quite another sort had taken place between him and Avdótya. When Akím

had rushed into the street, shouting that he would go to the mistress,

Avdótya had turned to Naúm, had stared at him with all her eyes, and

clasped her hands.

"O Lord!"--she began;--"Naúm Ivánitch, what is the meaning of this? Have

you bought our inn?"

"What if I have, ma'am?"--he retorted.--"I have bought it, ma'am."

Avdótya said nothing for a while, then suddenly took fright.

"So that is what you wanted the money for?"

"Precisely as you are pleased to put it, ma'am. Ehe, I do believe that

measly little husband of yours has driven off with my horse,"--he added,

as the rumble of wheels reached his ear.--"What a fine dashing fellow he

is!"

"Why, but this is robbery, nothing else!"--shrieked Avdótya.--"For the

money is ours, my husband's, and the inn is ours ...."

"No, ma'am, Avdótya Aréfyevna,"--Naúm interrupted her:--"the inn was

n't yours, and what 's the use of saying so; the inn stood on the

lady-mistress's land, so it belonged to her also; and the money really

was yours, only you were so kind, I may put it, as to contribute it to

me, ma'am; and I shall remain grateful to you, and shall even, if the

occasion arises, return it to you,--if I should see my way to it; only,

it is n't right that I should strip myself bare. Just judge for yourself

if that is n't so."

Naúm said all this very calmly, and even with a slight smile.

"Good heavens!"--screamed Avdótya;--"but what 's the meaning of this?

What is it? But how am I to show myself in my husband's sight after

this? Thou villain!"--she added, gazing with hatred at Naúm's young,

fresh face;--"have n't I ruined my soul for thee, have n't I become a

thief for thy sake, hast not thou turned us out of doors, thou

abominable villain?! After this there is nothing left for me but to put

a noose about my neck, villain, deceiver, thou destroyer of me...."

And she wept in torrents....

"Pray, don't worry, Avdótya Aréfyevna,"--said Naúm;--"I 'll tell you one

thing; a fellow must look out for number one; moreover, that 's what the

pike is in the sea for, Avdótya Aréfyevna--to keep the carp from getting

drowsy."

"Where are we to go now, what is to become of us?"--stammered Avdótya

through her tears.

"That 's more than I can tell, ma'am."

"But I 'll cut thy throat, thou villain; I will, I will!..."

"No, you won't do that, Avdótya Aréfyevna; what 's the use of saying

that? But I see that it will be better for me to go away from here for a

while, or you will be much upset.... I will bid you good day, ma'am, and

to-morrow I shall return without fail.... And you will be so good as to

permit me to send my hired men to you to-day,"--he added, while Avdótya

continued to repeat, through her tears, that she would cut his throat

and her own also.

"And yonder they come, by the way,"--he remarked, looking out of the

window. "Otherwise, some catastrophe might happen, which God forbid....

Matters will be more tranquil so. Do me the favour to get your

belongings together to-day, ma'am, while they will stand guard over you

and help you, if you like. I bid you good day, ma'am."

He bowed, left the room and called his men to him....

Avdótya sank down on the wall-bench, then laid herself breast down on

the table, and began to wring her hands, then suddenly sprang to her

feet, and ran after her husband.... We have described their meeting.

When Akím drove away from her in company with Efrém, leaving her alone

in the fields, she first wept for a long time, without stirring from the

spot. Having wept her fill, she directed her course to the mistress's

manor. It was a bitter thing for her to enter the house, and still more

bitter to show herself in the maids'-hall. All the maids flew to greet

her with sympathy and expressions of regret. At the sight of them,

Avdótya could not restrain her tears; they fairly gushed forth from her

red and swollen eyes. Completely unnerved, she dropped down on the first

chair she came to. They ran for Kiríllovna. Kiríllovna came, treated her

very affectionately, but would not admit her to see the mistress, any

more than she had admitted Akím. Avdótya herself did not insist very

strongly on seeing Lizavéta Prókhorovna; she had come to the manor-house

solely because she positively did not know where to lay her head.

Kiríllovna ordered the samovár to be prepared. For a long time Avdótya

refused to drink tea, but yielded, at last, to the entreaties and

persuasions of all the maids, and after the first cup drank four more.

When Kiríllovna perceived that her visitor was somewhat pacified, and

only shuddered from time to time, sobbing faintly, she asked her whither

they intended to remove, and what they wished to do with their things.

This question set Avdótya to crying again, and she began to asseverate

that she wanted nothing more, except to die; but Kiríllovna, being a

woman of brains, immediately stopped her and advised her to set about

transferring her things that very day, without useless waste of time, to

Akím's former cottage in the village, where dwelt his uncle, that same

old man who had tried to dissuade him from marrying; she announced that,

with the mistress's permission, they would be furnished with

transportation, and the aid of people and horses; "and as for you, my

dearest,"--added Kiríllovna, compressing her cat-like lips in a sour

smile,--"there will always be a place for you in our house, and it will

be very agreeable to us if you will be our guest until you recover

yourself and get settled in your house. The principal thing is--you must

not get downcast. The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away, and He will

give again: everything depends on His will. Lizavéta Prókhorovna, of

course, was obliged to sell your house, according to her calculations,

but she will not forget you, and will reward you; she bade me say so to

Akím Semyónitch... Where is he now?"

Avdótya replied that, on meeting her, he had grossly insulted her, and

had driven off to Chanter Efrém's.

"To that creature's!"--replied Kiríllovna, significantly.--"Well, I

understand that it is painful for him now, and I don't believe you can

hunt him up to-day. What is to be done? We must take measures,

Maláshka,"--she added, turning to one of the chambermaids. "Just ask

Nikanór Ílitch to step here; I will have a talk with him."

Nikanór Ílitch, a man of very paltry appearance, who served somewhat in

the capacity of overseer, immediately presented himself, obsequiously

listened to everything which Kiríllovna said to him,--remarked: "It

shall be executed," left the room and issued his orders. Avdótya was

furnished with three carts and three peasants; these were voluntarily

joined by a fourth, who said of himself that he would be "more

intelligent than they," and she set off in company with them for the

inn, where she found her former hired men and her maid-servant, Fetínya,

in great terror and excitement....

Naúm's recruits, three extremely robust young fellows, had arrived in

the morning, and had gone nowhere since, but had maintained a very

zealous guard over the inn, according to Naúm's promise--so zealous,

that one cart speedily proved to be devoid of tires...

Bitter, very bitter was it for poor Avdótya to pack up her things.

Despite the assistance of the "intelligent" man, who, by the way, knew

how to do nothing but stalk about with a staff in his hand, and watch

the others, and spit to one side, she did not succeed in moving out

that day, and remained to spend the night in the inn, having first

requested Fetínya not to leave her room; but it was not until daybreak

that she fell into a feverish doze, and the tears streamed down her

cheeks even in her sleep.

In the meantime, Efrém awoke earlier than was his wont in his

lumber-room, and began to thump and demand his release. At first his

wife would not let him out, declaring to him through the door that he

had not yet had enough sleep; but he excited her curiosity by promising

to tell her about the remarkable thing which had happened to Akím; she

undid the latch.--Efrém imparted to her everything he knew, and wound up

with the question: "Was he awake or not?"

"Why, the Lord knows,"--replied his wife;--"go and see for thyself; he

has not climbed down from the oven yet.--You both got pretty drunk last

night; thou shouldst just see thyself--thy face has no semblance of a

face; 't is like some sort of ladle; and what a lot of hay has got into

thy hair!"

"Never mind if it has,"--returned Efrém,--and passing his hand over his

head, he entered the house.--Akím was no longer asleep; he was sitting

on the oven with his legs dangling; his face also was very strange and

discomposed. It appeared all the more distorted because Akím was not in

the habit of drinking heavily.

"Well, how now, Akím Semyónitch, how have you slept?"--began Efrém....

Akím looked at him with a turbid gaze.

"Come, brother Efrém,"--he said hoarsely,--"can't we do it again--thou

knowest what?"

Efrém darted a swift glance at Akím .... at that moment he felt a sort

of thrill; that is the kind of sensation a sportsman experiences when

standing on the skirt of the woods, at the sudden yelping of his hound

in the forest, from which, apparently, all the wild beasts have already

fled.

"What--more?"--he asked at last.

"Yes; more."

"My wife will see,"--thought Efrém,--"and I don't believe she will allow

it."--"All right, it can be done,"--he said aloud;--"have patience."--He

went out and, thanks to artfully conceived measures, succeeded in

smuggling in a huge bottle unperceived beneath the skirt of his coat....

Akím seized the bottle ... But Efrém did not start to drink with him as

on the preceding evening--he was afraid of his wife, and,--having told

Akím that he would go and see how things were progressing at his house,

and how his belongings were being packed, and whether he were not being

robbed,--he immediately set off for the inn astride of his unfed little

nag,--not forgetting himself, however, if we may take into consideration

his projecting bosom.

Soon after his departure, Akím fell asleep again, and lay like one dead

on the oven.... He did not even wake up--at all events, he showed no

signs of being awake--when Efrém, returning four hours later, began to

shove him and try to rouse him, and whisper over him some extremely

indistinct words to the effect that everything was gone and transported

and the holy pictures were gone too, and everything was already

over--and that every one was hunting for him, but that he, Efrém, had

taken due measures, and had prohibited ... and so forth. But he did not

whisper long. His wife led him off to the lumber-room again, and herself

lay down in the house, on the platform over the oven, in great

indignation at her husband and at the guest, thanks to whom her husband

had got drunk.... But when, on awakening very early, according to her

wont, she cast a glance at the oven, Akím was no longer on it.... The

cocks had not yet crowed for the second time, and the night was still so

dark that the sky was barely turning grey directly overhead, and at the

rim was still completely drowned in vapour, when Akím emerged from the

gate of the chanter's house. His face was pale, but he darted a keen

glance around him, and his gait did not betray the drunkard.... He

walked in the direction of his former dwelling--the inn, which had

already definitively become the property of its new owner, Naúm.

Naúm was not sleeping either, at the time when Akím stealthily quitted

Efrém's house. He was not asleep; he was lying completely dressed on the

wall-bench, with his sheepskin coat rolled up under his head. It was not

that his conscience was tormenting him--no! he had been present with

astounding cold-bloodedness, from the morning on, at the packing and

transportation of Akím's household goods, and had more than once spoken

to Avdótya, who was downcast to such a degree that she did not even

upbraid him.... His conscience was at ease, but divers surmises and

calculations occupied his mind. He did not know whether he was going to

make a success of his new career; up to that time, he had never kept an

inn--and, generally speaking, had never even had a nook of his own; and

so he could not get to sleep.--"This little affair has been begun

well,"--he thought;--"what will the future be?"... When the last

cart-load of Akím's effects had set off just before night-fall (Avdótya

had followed it weeping), he had inspected the entire inn, all the

stables, cellars, and barns; he had crawled up into the attic, had

repeatedly ordered his labourers to maintain a strict watch, and, when

he was left alone after supper, he had not been able to get to sleep. It

so happened that on that day none of the travellers stopped to pass the

night; and this pleased him greatly. "I must buy a dog without fail

to-morrow,--the worst-tempered dog I can get, from the miller; for they

have carried off theirs,"--he said to himself, as he tossed from side to

side, and, all of a sudden, he raised his head hastily.... It seemed to

him as though some one had stolen past under the window... He

listened... Not a sound. Only a grasshopper shrilled behind the oven,

from time to time, and a mouse was gnawing somewhere, and his own breath

was audible. All was still in the empty room, dimly illuminated by the

yellow rays of a tiny glass shrine-lamp, which he had found time to

suspend and light in front of a small holy picture in the corner... He

lowered his head; and now again he seemed to hear the gate squeaking

.... then the wattled hedge crackled faintly.... He could not endure it,

leaped to his feet, opened the door into the next room, and called in a

low tone: "Feódor, hey, Feódor!"--No one answered him.... He went out

into the anteroom and nearly fell prone, as he stumbled over Feódor, who

was sprawling on the floor. The labourer stirred, growling in his sleep;

he shook him.

"Who 's there? What 's wanted?"--Feódor was beginning....

"What art thou yelling for? Hold thy tongue!"--articulated Naúm in a

whisper.--"The idea of your sleeping, you damned brutes! Hast thou not

heard anything?"

"No,"--replied the man.... "Why?"

"And where are the others sleeping?"

"The others are sleeping where they were ordered to.... But has anything

happened?..."

"Silence!--Follow me."

Naúm softly opened the door leading from the anteroom into the yard....

Out of doors everything was very dark;... it was possible to make out

the sheds with their pillars only because they stood out still more

densely black in the midst of the black mist....

"Sha'n't I light a lantern?"--said Feódor in a low voice.

But Naúm waved his hand and held his breath.... At first he could hear

nothing except those nocturnal sounds which one can almost always hear

in inhabited places: a horse was munching oats, a pig grunted once

faintly in its sleep, a man was snoring somewhere; but suddenly there

reached his ear a suspicious sort of noise, proceeding from the extreme

end of the yard, close to the fence....

It seemed as though some one was moving about, and breathing or

blowing.... Naúm looked over Feódor's shoulder, and, cautiously

descending the steps, walked in the direction of the sound.... A couple

of times he halted, and listened, then continued to creep stealthily

onward.... Suddenly he gave a start.... Ten paces from him, in the dense

gloom, a point of light suddenly glimmered brightly: it was a red-hot

coal, and beside the coal there showed itself for a brief instant the

front part of some one's face, with lips puffed out.... Swiftly and

silently Naúm darted at the light, as a cat darts at a mouse.... Hastily

rising from the ground, a long body rushed to meet him, and almost

knocked him from his feet, almost slipped through his hands, but he

clung to it with all his might....

"Feódor! Andréi! Petrúshka!"--he shouted, at the top of his

lungs;--"come here quick, quick! I 've caught a thief, an incendiary!"

The man whom he had captured struggled and resisted .... but Naúm did

not release him.... Feódor immediately darted to his assistance.

"A lantern, quick, a lantern! Run for a lantern! wake the others, be

quick!"--Naúm shouted to him,--"and I 'll manage him alone meanwhile--I

'll sit on him... Be quick! and fetch a belt to bind him with!"

Feódor flew to the cottage.... The man whom Naúm was holding suddenly

ceased his resistance....

"So, evidently, 't is not enough for thee to have taken my wife and my

money, and my house, but thou art bent on destroying me also,"--he said

in a dull tone....

Naúm recognised Akím's voice.

"So 't is thou, dear little dove,"--said he;--"good, just wait a bit!"

"Let me go,"--said Akím.--"Art not thou satisfied?"

"See here, to-morrow I 'll show you in the presence of the judge how

satisfied I am...." And Naúm tightened his hold on Akím....

The labourers ran up with two lanterns and some ropes.... "Bind

him!"--ordered Naúm, sharply.... The labourers seized Akím, lifted him

up, and bound his hands behind him.... One of them was beginning to

swear, but on recognising the former landlord of the inn, he held his

peace, and merely exchanged glances with the others.

"Just see there, see there, now,"--Naúm kept repeating the while, as he

passed the lantern along the ground;--"yonder, there are coals in a pot;

just look, he has brought a whole firebrand in the pot--we must find out

where he got that pot ... and here, he has broken twigs...." And Naúm

assiduously stamped out the fire with his foot.--"Search him,

Feódor!"--he added, "and see whether he has anything more about him."

Feódor searched and felt Akím, who stood motionless with his head

drooping on his breast, like a dead man.--"There is--here 's a

knife,"--said Feódor, drawing an old kitchen-knife from Akím's breast.

"Ehe, my dear fellow, so that 's what thou hadst in mind!"--exclaimed

Naúm.--"You are witnesses, my lads--see there, he intended to cut my

throat, to burn up my house.... Lock him up in the cellar until morning;

he can't get out of there.... I will stand watch all night myself, and

to-morrow at dawn we will take him to the chief of police .... and you

are witnesses, do you hear...."

They thrust Akím into the cellar, and slammed the door behind him....

Naúm stationed two of the labourers there, and did not lie down to sleep

himself.

In the meantime, Efrém's wife, having convinced herself that her

unbidden guest had taken himself off, was on the point of beginning her

cooking, although it was hardly daylight out of doors as yet. She

squatted down by the oven to get some coals, and saw that some one had

already raked out the live embers thence; then she bethought herself of

her knife--and did not find it; in conclusion, one of her four pots was

missing. Efrém's wife bore the reputation of being anything but a stupid

woman--and with good reason. She stood for a while in thought, then went

to the lumber-room to her husband. It was not easy to arouse him

fully--and still more difficult was it to make him understand why he had

been awakened... To everything which his wife said, Chanter Efrém made

one and the same reply:

"He 's gone,--well, God be with him ... but what business is that of

mine? He has carried off a knife and a pot--well, God be with him--but

what business is that of mine?"

But, at last, he rose, and after listening intently to his wife, he

decided that it was a bad business, and that it could not be left as it

now stood.

"Yes,"--the chanter's wife insisted,--"'t is a bad business; I do

believe he 'll do mischief out of desperation.... I noticed last night

that he was not asleep as he lay there on the oven; it would n't be a

bad idea for thee, Efrém Alexándritch, to find out whether ...."

"See here, Ulyána Feódorovna, I 'll tell thee what,"--began Efrém;--"I

'll go to the inn myself immediately; and do thou be kind, dear little

mother; give me a little glass of liquor to cure me of my drunkenness."

Ulyána reflected.

"Well,"--she decided at last,--"I 'll give thee some liquor, Efrém

Alexándritch; only look out, don't dally."

"Be at ease, Ulyána Feódorovna."

And, having fortified himself with a glass of liquor, Efrém set out for

the inn.

Day had but just dawned when he rode up to the inn, and at the gate a

cart was already standing harnessed, and one of Naúm's labourers was

sitting on the driver's seat, holding the reins in his hands.

"Whither art thou going?"--Efrém asked him.

"To town,"--replied the labourer.

"Why?"

The labourer merely shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. Efrém

sprang from his horse and entered the house. In the anteroom he ran

across Naúm, fully dressed, and wearing a cap.

"I congratulate the new landlord on his new domicile,"--said Efrém, who

was personally acquainted with him.--"Whither away so early?"

"Yes, there is cause for congratulation,"--replied Naúm, surlily.--"This

is my first day, and I have almost been burnt out."