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Kerbakh and Zherbenev were the most frequent guests at Glafira Pavlovna's cosy, hospitable house. Evil tongues made slander of this, and associated her name now with Kerbakh, now with Zherbenev. But this was a calumny. Her heart had only a place for a young official who served as a private secretary to the Governor.
Some of them it was always the same ones made him reflect, and excited his imagination: of other diversions he knew nothing. When the time came for teaching him languages and music, Glafira Petrovna hired an old maid for a mere trifle, a Swede, whose eyes looked sideways, like a hare's, who spoke French and German more or less badly, played the piano so so, and pickled cucumbers to perfection.
"Well, well, and mine's like that too," chimed in Zherbenev. Glafira Pavlovna smiled graciously at both of them. "Whom are you talking about?" asked Kerbakh at last, rather annoyed at his companion. Zherbenev replied: "There is a chap here what's his name? You remember we met him at the pier some time ago. He was rather interested in Trirodov." "You mean Ostrov?" ventured Kerbakh.
Even during her mother's lifetime, Glafira had succeeded by degrees in getting the whole household into her hands; every one from her father downwards, submitted to her rule; not a piece of sugar was given out without her sanction; she would rather have died than shared her authority with another mistress and with such a mistress!
Once after dinner at Konopatskaya's, Kerbakh and Zherbenev were telling Glafira Pavlovna about Ostrov. Kerbakh was the first to broach the subject: "I have in view a man whom I should like to call to your attention." "I too know a lively chap," said Zherbenev. Kerbakh, annoyed at the interruption, looked none too amiably at Zherbenev, and went on: "He didn't at all please me at first."
No one would have called Fedya an interesting child; he was rather pale, but stout, clumsily built and awkward a thorough peasant, as Glafira Petrovna said; the pallor would soon have vanished from his cheeks, if he had been allowed oftener to be in the open air.
In the course of a fortnight, Fedor Ivanitch had brought Glafira Petrovna's little house into order and had cleared the court-yard and the garden.
As for the management of the house, and the administration of the estate, Glafira Petrovna had undertaken these duties also; in spite of Ivan Petrovitch's intention, more than once expressed to breathe new life into this chaos, everything remained as before; only the rent was in some places raised, the mistress was more strict, and the peasants were forbidden to apply direct to Ivan Petrovitch.
Each new member was presented with a badge, a Browning revolver, and a little money. The local patriots used to say about Glafira Pavlovna's house: "Here dwells the Russian spirit, here it smells of Russia!" After the meeting it usually smelt of vodka and shag. Some of the working men joined these unions for material reasons, others from ignorance.
His small, malicious eyes looked out morosely from beneath the heavy, apparently swollen eyelids. His black hair, worn without powder, rose up stiff as a brush above his heavy, wrinkled forehead. From the corner of the portrait hung a dusky wreath of immortelles. "Glafira Petrovna deigned to weave it herself," observed Anthony.
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