walking along the avenue. Putting one hand in his pocket and snapping the fingers of the other, he walked with confident swinging steps, throwing his head back a little, and looking as though he were very well satisfied with himself, with his dinner, with his digestion, and with nature. . . .
Two little schoolboys, the children of Madame Tchizhevsky, who had only just arrived, made their appearance in the avenue, accompanied by their tutor, a student wearing a white tunic and very narrow trousers. When they reached Pyotr Dmitritch, the boys and the student stopped, and probably congratulated him on his name-day. With a graceful swing of his shoulders, he patted the children on their cheeks, and carelessly offered the student his hand without looking at him. The student must have praised the weather and compared it with the climate of Petersburg, for Pyotr Dmitritch said in a loud voice, in a tone as though he were not speaking to a guest, but to an usher of the court or a witness:
'What! It's cold in Petersburg? And here, my good sir, we have a salubrious atmosphere and the fruits of the earth in abundance. Eh? What?'
And thrusting one hand in his pocket and snapping the fingers of the other, he walked on. Till he had disappeared behind the nut bushes, Olga Mihalovna watched the back of his head in perplexity. How had this man of thirty-four come by the dignified deportment of a general? How had he come by that impressive, elegant manner? Where had he got that vibration of authority in his voice? Where had he got these 'what's,' 'to be sure's,' and 'my good sir's'?
Olga Mihalovna remembered how in the first months of her marriage she had felt dreary at home alone and had driven into the town to the Circuit Court, at which Pyotr Dmitritch had sometimes presided in place of her godfather, Count Alexey Petrovitch. In the presidential chair, wearing his uniform and a chain on his breast, he was completely changed. Stately gestures, a voice of thunder, 'what,' 'to be sure,' careless tones. . . . Everything, all that was ordinary and human, all that was individual and personal to himself that Olga Mihalovna was accustomed to seeing in him at home, vanished in grandeur, and in the presidential chair there sat not Pyotr Dmitritch, but another man whom every one called Mr. President. This consciousness of power prevented him from sitting still in his place, and he seized every opportunity to ring his bell, to glance sternly at the public, to shout. . . . Where had he got his short-sight and his deafness when he suddenly began to see and hear with difficulty, and, frowning majestically, insisted on people speaking louder and coming closer to the table? From the height of his grandeur he could hardly distinguish faces or sounds, so that it seemed that if Olga Mihalovna herself had gone up to him he would have shouted even to her, 'Your name?' Peasant witnesses he addressed familiarly, he shouted at the public so that his voice could be heard even in the street, and behaved incredibly with the lawyers. If a lawyer had to speak to him, Pyotr Dmitritch, turning a little away from him, looked with half-closed eyes at the ceiling, meaning to signify thereby that the lawyer was utterly superfluous and that he was neither recognizing him nor listening to him; if a badly-dressed lawyer spoke, Pyotr Dmitritch pricked up his ears and looked the man up and down with a sarcastic, annihilating stare as though to say: 'Queer sort of lawyers nowadays!'
'What do you mean by that?' he would interrupt.
If a would-be eloquent lawyer mispronounced a foreign word, saying, for instance, 'factitious' instead of 'fictitious,' Pyotr Dmitritch brightened up at once and asked, 'What? How? Factitious? What does that mean?' and then observed impressively: 'Don't make use of words you do not understand.' And the lawyer, finishing his speech, would walk away from the table, red and perspiring, while Pyotr Dmitritch; with a self-satisfied smile, would lean back in his chair triumphant. In his manner with the lawyers he imitated Count Alexey Petrovitch a little, but when the latter said, for instance, 'Counsel for the defence, you keep quiet for a little!' it sounded paternally good-natured and natural, while the same words in Pyotr Dmitritch's mouth were rude and artificial.
II
There were sounds of applause. The young man had finished playing.
Olga Mihalovna remembered her guests and hurried into the drawing-room.
'I have so enjoyed your playing,' she said, going up to the piano. 'I have so enjoyed it. You have a wonderful talent! But don't you think our piano's out of tune?'
At that moment the two schoolboys walked into the room, accompanied by the student.
'My goodness! Mitya and Kolya,' Olga Mihalovna drawled joyfully, going to meet them: 'How big they have grown! One would not know you! But where is your mamma?'
'I congratulate you on the name-day,' the student began in a
free-and-easy tone, 'and I wish you all happiness. Ekaterina
Andreyevna sends her congratulations and begs you to excuse her.
She is not very well.'
'How unkind of her! I have been expecting her all day. Is it long since you left Petersburg?' Olga Mihalovna asked the student. 'What kind of weather have you there now?' And without waiting for an answer, she looked cordially at the schoolboys and repeated:
'How tall they have grown! It is not long since they used to come with their nurse, and they are at school already! The old grow older while the young grow up. . . . Have you had dinner?'
'Oh, please don't trouble!' said the student.
'Why, you have not had dinner?'
'For goodness' sake, don't trouble!'
'But I suppose you are hungry?' Olga Mihalovna said it in a harsh, rude voice, with impatience and vexation— it escaped her unawares, but at once she coughed, smiled, and flushed crimson. 'How tall they have grown!' she said softly.
'Please don't trouble!' the student said once more.
The student begged her not to trouble; the boys said nothing; obviously all three of them were hungry. Olga Mihalovna took them into the dining-room and told Vassily to lay the table.
'How unkind of your mamma!' she said as she made them sit down. 'She has quite forgotten me. Unkind, unkind, unkind . . . you must tell her so. What are you studying?' she asked the student.
'Medicine.'
'Well, I have a weakness for doctors, only fancy. I am very sorry my husband is not a doctor. What courage any one must have to perform an operation or dissect a corpse, for instance! Horrible! Aren't you frightened? I believe I should die of terror! Of course, you drink vodka?'
'Please don't trouble.'
'After your journey you must have something to drink. Though I am a woman, even I drink sometimes. And Mitya and Kolya will drink Malaga. It's not a strong wine; you need not be afraid of it. What fine fellows they are, really! They'll be thinking of getting married next.'
Olga Mihalovna talked without ceasing; she knew by experience that when she had guests to entertain it was far easier and more comfortable to talk than to listen. When you talk there is no need to strain your attention to think of answers to questions, and to change your expression of face. But unawares she asked the student a serious question; the student began a lengthy speech and she was forced to listen. The student knew that she had once been at the University, and so tried to seem a serious person as he talked to her.
'What subject are you studying?' she asked, forgetting that she had already put that question to him.
'Medicine.'
Olga Mihalovna now remembered that she had been away from the ladies for a long while.
'Yes? Then I suppose you are going to be a doctor?' she said, getting up. 'That's splendid. I am sorry I did not go in for medicine myself. So you will finish your dinner here, gentlemen, and then come into the garden. I will introduce you to the young ladies.'
She went out and glanced at her watch: it was five minutes to six. And she wondered that the time had gone so slowly, and thought with horror that there were six more hours before midnight, when the party would break up. How could she get through those six hours? What phrases could she utter? How should she behave to her
