bows. About two hours later the kibitka stopped before the porch-I think there's no need to say-before the porch of Stor-chenko's house. Grigory Grigorievich was not at home. The old lady and the young ladies came out to the living room to meet the guests. The aunt approached with majestic step, put one leg forward with great adroitness, and said loudly:
'I am very pleased, my dear madam, to have the honor of personally paying you my respects. And along with that, allow me to thank you for your hospitality to my nephew, Ivan Fyodorovich, who has given it much praise. Your buckwheat, madam, is excellent! I saw it as I was driving up to the village. And allow me to ask, how many stacks do you get per acre?'
After which followed a general planting of kisses. And once they were settled in the living room, the old hostess began:
'Regarding the buckwheat, I am unable to tell you: that is along Grigory Grigorievich's line. I haven't occupied myself with it for a long time, and I can't-I'm too old! In olden times, I remember, we used to have buckwheat up to the waist. God knows how it is now. Though, anyhow, they say everything's better these days!' Here the old lady sighed, and an observer might have heard in this sigh the sigh of the old eighteenth century.
'I've heard, my dear madam, that your own serf girls make excellent rugs,' said Vasilisa Kashporovna, thereby touching the old lady's most sensitive string. At these words she became as if animated and talk poured from her about how yarn ought to be dyed and how to prepare thread for it. From rugs the conversation quickly slipped over to the pickling of cucumbers and the drying of pears. In short, before an hour went by, the two ladies were talking as if they had known each other forever. Vasilisa Kashporovna already began saying many things to her in such a soft voice that Ivan Fyodorovich was unable to make anything out.
'But wouldn't you like to have a look?' said the old hostess, rising.
After her the young ladies and Vasilisa Kashporovna also rose, and they all moved toward the serving-girls' room. The aunt, however, gave a sign to Ivan Fyodorovich to stay and said something softly to the old lady.
'Mashenka!' the old lady said, turning to the fair girl, 'stay with our guest and talk with him, so that our guest doesn't get bored!'
The fair young lady stayed and sat down on the sofa. Ivan Fyo- dorovich sat on his chair as if on needles, blushing and looking down; but the young lady seemed not to notice it at all and sat indifferently on the sofa, studying the windows and walls diligently or following with her eyes a cat that timorously ran under the chairs.
Ivan Fyodorovich plucked up his courage a bit and was about to begin a conversation; but it seemed he had lost all his words on the road. Not a single thought occurred to him.
The silence lasted about a quarter of an hour. The young lady went on sitting in the same way.
Finally Ivan Fyodorovich took heart.
'There's quite a lot of flies in summer, miss!' he uttered in a half-trembling voice.
'An incredible lot!' replied the young lady. 'My brother specially made a swatter out of mama's old shoe, but there's still quite a lot.'
Here the conversation stopped. And in no way could Ivan Fyodorovich find his tongue again.
Finally the mistress, the aunt, and the dark young lady came back. After talking a little while longer, Vasilisa Kashporovna took her leave of the old lady and the young ones, in spite of invitations to stay the night. The old lady and the girls came out to the porch to see the guests off, and for a long time still they kept bowing to the aunt and nephew peeking out of the britzka.
'Well, Ivan Fyodorovich! what did you talk about with the young miss?' the aunt asked on their way.
'Marya Grigorievna is a very modest and well-behaved girl!' said Ivan Fyodorovich.
'Listen, Ivan Fyodorovich! I want to talk seriously with you. You are, thank God, in your thirty-eighth year. You already have a good rank. It's time to think about children! You absolutely must have a wife…'
'What, auntie?' Ivan Fyodorovich cried out, frightened. 'What, a wife? No, auntie, for pity's sake… You make me completely ashamed… I've never been married before… I absolutely wouldn't know what to do with her!'
'You'll find out, Ivan Fyodorovich, you'll find out,' the aunt said, smiling, and thought to herself: 'My, oh, my. He's still quite a young lad, doesn't know a thing!' 'Yes, Ivan Fyodorovich,' she said aloud, 'you won't find a better wife than Marya Grigorievna. Besides, you liked her very much. I've already discussed it at length with the old woman: she's very pleased to see you as her son-in-law. True, we don't know what that sinner of a Grigorievich is going to say. But we won't consider him, just let him try and withhold the dowry, we'll have him in court…'
At that moment the britzka drove into the yard and the ancient nags livened up, sensing their stalls nearby.
'Listen, Omelko! give the horses a good rest first, don't take them for water right after unharnessing, they're hot. Well, Ivan Fyodorovich,' the aunt went on, climbing out, 'I advise you to think it over well. I still have to run by the kitchen. I forgot to give Solokha orders for supper, and I suppose the worthless woman hasn't thought of it herself.'
But Ivan Fyodorovich stood as if thunderstruck. True, Marya Grigorievna was a very nice young lady; but to get married!… that seemed to him so strange, so odd, that he was simply unable to think of it without fear. To live with a wife!… incomprehensible! He wouldn't be alone in his room, there'd be two of them everywhere!… Sweat broke out on his face as he fell to pondering more deeply.
He went to bed earlier than usual, but despite all efforts was unable to fall asleep. At last the longed-for sleep, that universal pacifier, visited him-but what sleep! He had never had more incoherent dreams. First he dreamed that everything around him was noisy, whirling, and he is running, running, not feeling the legs under him…he's already at the end of his strength… Suddenly somebody grabs him by the ear. 'Aie! who's that?' 'It's me, your wife!' some voice said noisily. And he suddenly woke up. Then he imagined that he was already married, that everything in their house was so odd, so strange: in his room, instead of a single bed, there stood a double bed. On a chair sits the wife. It's strange to him; he doesn't know how to approach her, what to say to her, and he notices that she has a goose face. Inadvertendy, he turns away and sees another wife, also with a goose face. He turns another way- there stands a third wife. Behind him, one more wife. Here anguish came over him. He rushed into the garden; but it was hot in the garden. He took his hat off and saw: a wife is sitting in the hat, too. Sweat broke out on his face. He went to his pocket to get a handkerchief-there's a wife in the pocket as well; he took a wad of cotton out of his ear-there sits another wife… Then suddenly he was hopping on one foot, and his aunt, looking at him, said with an imposing air, 'Yes, you must hop, because you're a married man now.' He turns to her, but the aunt is no longer an aunt but a belfry. And he feels that someone is pulling him on a rope up the belfry. 'Who is pulling me?' Ivan
