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Then she related about the suicide of another inspector's mistress; she drowned herself because she was about to have a child. Then she told about a third inspector who got drunk in a bath-house and got into a tussle there with the mayor of the town. Shabalov was riding in a trap with Zherbenev. "It would be good to have a tasty snack," he said.
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.
The boy quickly repeated the words he had studied: "And afterwards the foul corpses of the vile enemies of the Fatherland should be thrown on the dunghill." Kerbakh and Zherbenev laughed gleefully. "That describes them foul carrion, that's what they are!" said Zherbenev in a hoarse voice.
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."
"My friend also did not appeal to me at the beginning," said Zherbenev, who would not stay repressed. "To look at him you might think that he's a cut-throat," said Kerbakh. "That describes my man too," announced Zherbenev, as if he were announcing something gay and pleasant. "But at heart," went on Kerbakh, "he is an ingenuous infant and an enthusiastic patriot."
"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.
They were the retired District Attorney Kerbakh and the retired Colonel Zherbenev, both large land-proprietors and patriots members of the Union of Russian People. Their speech was loud and vehement, and interpolated with such strange words and phrases as "treachery," "sedition," "hang them," "wipe them out," "give it to them." Nikolai Ilyitch Kerbakh was a small, thin, puny-looking man.
"We are sure to get something there," replied Zherbenev confidently. The visitors were all confident that they were being awaited. Zinaida Grigorievna said: "The most interesting part of it will be hidden of course." "Yes, but we'll investigate." It was a fresh, early morning. The road went through the wood. They had now driven for a long time.
A new-comer at the next table, a stranger apparently to those present, was giving an order for a bottle of beer. Of middle age and medium height, he was stout, or rather flabby; he had small glittering eyes; and his dress had seen much wear. Kerbakh and Zherbenev gave him an occasional passing glance, not of a very friendly nature.
Andrey Lavrentyevitch Zherbenev, a tall, lank man with an important air, sat motionless and erect as though he were nailed to his chair, and surveyed those round him with a stern glance. His white linen coat, with all its buttons fastened, sat on him as on a bronze idol. "In everything, I say, the parents are to blame," continued Kerbakh in the same savage voice as before.
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