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Pyetushkov turned pale. 'Well ... well, why don't you come in? he said at last. 'Come in, Vassilissa, come in. I'm very glad to see you, Vassilissa. Vassilissa glanced at Onisim and came into the room. Pyetushkov went nearer to her.... He heaved deep, irregular breaths. Onisim watched him. Vassilissa stole timid glances at both of them.
It's certain I could think of nothing else to do. Onisim paused for a while. 'Well, come along, Vassilissa, please, come along. 'Oh, Onisim Sergeitch, I don't want to be friendly with him again ... 'Well, and you needn't who's talking of it? You've only to say a couple of words; to say, Why does your honour grieve? ... give over.... That's all. 'Really, Onisim Sergeitch ...
Ivan Afanasiitch stood still a moment, groped after his cap, put it on askew, and went out without closing his mouth. He reached home, took up a leather cushion, and with it flung himself on the sofa, with his face to the wall. Onisim looked in out of the passage, went into the room, leaned his back against the door, took a pinch of snuff, and crossed his legs.
'But you yourself, Onisim Sergeitch, if you remember, were put out with him about it; "Why is he such friends?" you said; "what's he always coming for?" 'Well, was I to be pleased with him for it, do you suppose? 'Well, then, why are you angry with me now? Here, he's given up coming. Onisim positively stamped. 'But what am I to do with him, if he's such a madman? he added, dropping his voice.
He was hurt. At home he called for his things to dress. Onisim slouched off after his better coat. Pyetushkov had a great desire to draw Onisim into conversation, but Onisim preserved a sullen silence. At last Ivan Afanasiitch could hold out no longer. 'Why don't you ask me where I'm going? 'Why, what do I want to know where you're going for? 'What for?
'Why should I be angry with you, Onisim? answered poor Pyetushkov. 'You were perfectly right yesterday, and I quite agreed with you in everything. 'I only spoke through my devotion to you, Ivan Afanasiitch. 'I know that. Pyetushkov was silent and hung his head. Onisim saw that things were in a bad way. 'Ivan Afanasiitch, he said suddenly. 'Well? 'Would you like me to fetch Vassilissa here?
Ivan Afanasiitch went to the window, sighed, and called for something to drink. Onisim set a glass of kvas on the table, glanced severely at his master, leaned back against the door, and hung his head dejectedly. 'What are you so thoughtful about? his master asked him genially, but with some inward trepidation.
'We cannot tell, the soldier cried a second time, in just the same voice. 'All right, you can go, pronounced Pyetushkov. Pyetushkov exchanged glances with Onisim, who at once assumed a look of anxiety. Without a word Ivan Afanasiitch set off to the major's.
'What about my master? replied Onisim, and he leaned on his hand. 'He's all right. But why do you ask? 'Oh, I only asked, answered Vassilissa. 'Yes, he did. Onisim shook his head with an extraordinarily self-satisfied air. 'So he did, did he? he said huskily, with a smile. 'Well, and what did he say in his letter to you? 'Oh, all sorts of things.
'You tell him, your master, that I'm ...; say, not angry with him, but that ... She stammered. 'We understand, responded Onisim, and he got up from his seat. 'We understand. Thanks for the entertainment. 'Come in again some day. 'All right, all right. Onisim approached the door. The fat woman came into the room. 'Good evening to you, Onisim Sergeitch, she said in a peculiar chant.
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