'Ill, indeed! He's as broad as he's long, and a face like this--God
bless him!--and bearded, though he is so young.... Well, God knows!'
And Ovsyanikov gave a deep sigh.
'Come, putting the nobles aside,' I began, 'what have you to tell me
about the peasant proprietors, Luka Petrovitch?'
'No, you must let me off that,' he said hurriedly. 'Truly.... I could
tell you ... but what's the use!' (with a wave of his hand). 'We had
better have some tea.... We are common peasants and nothing more; but
when we come to think of it, what else could we be?'
He ceased talking. Tea was served. Tatyana Ilyinitchna rose from her
place and sat down rather nearer to us. In the course of the evening
she several times went noiselessly out and as quietly returned. Silence
reigned in the room. Ovsyanikov drank cup after cup with gravity and
deliberation.
'Mitya has been to see us to-day,' said Tatyana Ilyinitchna in a low
voice.
Ovsyanikov frowned.
'What does he want?'
'He came to ask forgiveness.'
Ovsyanikov shook his head.
'Come, tell me,' he went on, turning to me, 'what is one to do with
relations? And to abandon them altogether is impossible.... Here God
has bestowed on me a nephew. He's a fellow with brains--a smart
fellow--I don't dispute that; he has had a good education, but I don't
expect much good to come of him. He went into a government office;
threw up his position--didn't get on fast enough, if you please....
Does he suppose he's a noble? And even noblemen don't come to be
generals all at once. So now he is living without an occupation.... And
that, even, would not be such a great matter--except that he has taken
to litigation! He gets up petitions for the peasants, writes memorials;
he instructs the village delegates, drags the surveyors over the coals,
frequents drinking houses, is seen in taverns with city tradesmen and
inn-keepers. He's bound to come to ruin before long. The constables and
police-captains have threatened him more than once already. But he
luckily knows how to turn it off--he makes them laugh; but they will
boil his kettle for him some day.... But, there, isn't he sitting in
your little room?' he added, turning to his wife; 'I know you, you see;
you're so soft-hearted--you will always take his part.'
Tatyana Ilyinitchna dropped her eyes, smiled, and blushed.
'Well, I see it is so,' continued Ovsyanikov. 'Fie! you spoil the boy!
Well, tell him to come in.... So be it, then; for the sake of our good
guest I will forgive the silly fellow.... Come, tell him, tell him.'