“There is nothing special the matter with me, Marya Alekséyevna; but Viéra Pavlova looked rather pale, or at least I thought so.”
“What? Viérotchka? She’s often so.”
“Well, maybe it only seemed so to me. I must confess that my head swims, it is so full of thoughts.”
“Why, what’s the matter, Dmitri Sergéitch? You ain’t had a fallin’ out with you sweetheart, have you?”
“No, Marya Alekséyevna; I am content with my sweetheart! It’s her parents that I have to quarrel with.”
“What do you mean, bátiushka? Dmitri Sergéitch, how is it possible to quarrel with her parents? I didn’t think that of you, bátiushka!”
“It can’t be helped, Marya Alekséyevna; it’s such a family. They expect a man to do God knows what things beyond his power.”
“That’s a different thing, Dmitri Sergéitch. You can’t satisfy everybody; you’ve got to set limits, that’s a fact. If such is the case, that is, if the quarrel’s about money, I can’t blame you.”
“Allow me to be rude, Marya Alekséyevna; I am so tired that I feel the need of rest in pleasant and estimable society, and such a society I find nowhere except in your house. Permit me to impose myself upon you for dinner today, and permit me to give some orders to your Matrióna. It seems to me that Denker’s wine-cellar is not very far from here, and his wine is not a God-knows-what kind, but excellent.”
Marya Alekséyevna’s face, which at the first mention of dinner became black with rage, put off its decided expression when he spoke of Matrióna, and assumed a look of eagerness.
“We will see, golubtchik; will you contribute something towards the dinner? Denker—of course he must have something good.”
But the golubtchik, not looking into her face at all, had already taken out his cigar-case, torn off a piece of paper from a letter that had seen long service in it, took out his pencil, and proceeded to write:—
“If I may ask you, Marya Alekséyevna, what kind of wine do you like to drink?”
“I, bátiushka Dmitri Sergéitch, must tell you the truth: I know very little about wines, because I scarcely ever drink; it ain’t a woman’s business.”
“It can be easily seen from your face at a glance that you don’t drink. However, be it so, Marya Alekséyevna; even young girls drink maraschino; will you permit me to order it?”
“What kind of wine is that Dmitri Sergéitch?”
“Simple; you might almost say it wasn’t wine at all, but only syrup.” He took out a “red note” (ten rubles). “There, I guess that’ll do!” He ran over his order at a glance. “At all events, I’ll make it five rubles more.”
(“Three weeks’ income, a month’s support! But it can’t be done in any other way. It is necessary to give Marya Alekséyevna a good bribe.”)
Marya Alekséyevna’s eyes filled with moisture, and involuntarily the sweetest of smiles spread over her face.
“Have you a confectioner near at hand? I wonder if we could find a walnut pirog ready made. According to my taste that’s the very best kind of pie, Marya Alekséyevna; but if we can’t find any, we’ll have to put up with the best we can get.”
He went into the kitchen and sent Matrióna to make the purchases.
“Let’s have a regular picnic today, Marya Alekséyevna. I want to drink away my quarrel with those parents. Why shouldn’t we have a picnic, Marya Alekséyevna? I get along first rate with my sweetheart. Shan’t we live well, shan’t we live happily, Marya Alekséyevna?”
“Yes indeed, bátiushka Dmitri Sergéitch. That’s the reason [to-to]; I see that you are so flush with your money, which I never expected of you because you are a man of solid understanding. Evidently you must have had a little advance from your bride’s dowry, ain’t that so?”
“No, Marya Alekséyevna; but as long as I have money in my pocket, we may as well picnic. What do you mean by the little advance on the dowry? You have to do business in a straightforward way else suspicions’ll be aroused. Besides, it is not high-toned, Marya Alekséyevna.”
“It ain’t high-toned, Dmitri Sergéitch, that’s a fact; it ain’t high-toned. Accordin’ to my idee, one must be high-toned in everything.”
“You are right, Marya Alekséyevna.”
The half or three-quarters of an hour remaining before dinner time passed in the most amiable conversation of this sort, touching on all sorts of noble sentiments. Dmitri Sergéitch, among other things, declared in a transport of confidence that his marriage would soon take place.
“And how is it about Viéra Pavlovna’s marriage?”
Marya Alekséyevna is not able to answer because she is not bringing any pressure upon her daughter. Of course not, but in his opinion Viéra Pavlovna will soon make up her mind to marry; to be sure, she had not told him anything, but he had eyes of his own. “You and I, Marya Alekséyevna, are old sparrows, you know; and we can’t be caught with chaff. Though my years aren’t so very many, still I’m an old sparrow, a tough roll [kalatch]. Isn’t that so, Marya Alekséyevna?”
“Yes, that’s so, bátiushka, a tough roll, a tough roll!”
In a word, this pleasant, confidential conversation with Marya Alekséyevna had so enlivened Dmitri Sergéitch that he forgot all about his melancholy. He was livelier than Marya Alekséyevna had ever seen him before. (“What a cute rogue he is! a clever rascal [shelma]! He must have got out of his sweetheart [bride] more than one thousand; and prob’ly her folks found out how he was
