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The door closed behind the short, thick-set figure with the crisp, curling hair, and the Musician waited in his chair. Presently the door opened again. "Is that you, Bobo, eh? Come in. I sent for you. Didn't you tell me your wife was ill?" "Yes, Bárin." "You would like to go to her to-night? Well, go. I shan't need you. Don't jabber, you make my head spin.
"Be careful, Barin.... He doesn't know what he's about. He may not recognise you." "Oh, that's all right!" said Lawrence. He pushed the door open and walked in. To give for a moment his own account of it: "You know that room was the rummiest thing. I'd never been into it before. I knew the old fellow was a bit of a dandy, but I never expected to see all the pots and jars and glasses there were.
For some time I could not cross the street, then I broke through and almost ran down the deserted stretch of the Canal. I arrived almost breathless at the door in the English Prospect. There I found Sacha watching the people and listening to the distant bands. "Sacha!" I cried, "is Alexei Petrovitch at home?" "No, Barin," she answered, looking at me in some surprise.
I know what is what, and know that it is not right to get drunk. All that I have been having is a word or two with a decent man, for the reason that " "Well, if I lay the whip about you, you'll know then how to talk to a decent fellow, I'll warrant!" "As you please, barin," replied the complacent Selifan. "Should you whip me, you will whip me, and I shall have nothing to complain of.
He gazed about him on every side, but the darkness was too dense for the eye to pierce. "Selifan!" he exclaimed, leaning forward in the britchka. "What is it, barin?" replied the coachman. "Can you see the country house anywhere?" "No, barin." After which, with a flourish of the whip, the man broke into a sort of endless, drawling song. In that song everything had a place.
"You might have knocked me flat down with a birch twig," said Uncle Volodia afterwards, when talking it over with Adam. "The idea of thanking us for what was nothing at all but a real pleasure! He's a good man, the Barin!"
The musician, who had supposed that he was exercising his vocal organs unheard, stopped suddenly, and looked sheepishly around, as if conscious that he had been making himself ridiculous in some way, but did not know exactly how. "Why, Andrei," said Dodd, "I didn't know you could sing in English." "I can't, Barin," was the reply; "but I can sing a little in American."
"Never have I seen such a barin. I should like to spit in his face. 'Tis better to allow a man nothing to eat than to refuse to feed a horse properly. A horse needs his oats they are his proper fare. Even if you make a man procure a meal at his own expense, don't deny a horse his oats, for he ought always to have them."
On the sheet was typed "To the Barin Prozorovsky. The Bielokonsky Committee of the Poor order you to withdraw from the Soviet Estate of Bielokonsky and from the district precincts. President Koloturov." "Very well," said the Prince quietly; "I will go this evening." "You will take no horse." "I will go on foot." "As you like," Koloturov replied. "You will take nothing with you."
"There's going to be trouble the other side of the river in a day or two," he answered, "and I'm going to help." "Help what?" I asked. "Help the trouble," he answered, smiling. "Behave like a blackguard, in fact." "Ah, blackguard, Barin!" he protested, using a Russian word that is worse than blackguard. "Why these names?... I'm not a good man, God have mercy on my soul, but then I pretend nothing.
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