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"You are that man?" she said, looking at him with rising curiosity. "You boast of your name, which I have heard before. You shot at Niel Andreevich, and let a couple of dogs loose on an old lady. There are the manifestations of your 'new strength. Go, and don't be seen here again." "Otherwise you will complain to Grandmama?" "I certainly shall. Good-bye."
As soon as he had jumped off, the horse struggled to his feet, plunged forward, gave one leap and another, neighed again, and dragging the drugget and the breechband after him, disappeared, leaving Vasili Andreevich alone on the snow-drift.
You know that I serve you and take as much pains as I would for my own father. I understand very well! Nikita would reply. He was quite aware that Vasili Andreevich was cheating him, but at the same time he felt that it was useless to try to clear up his accounts with him or explain his side of the matter, and that as long as he had nowhere to go he must accept what he could get.
One plunge, another, and a third, and at last Mukhorty was out of the snow-drift, and stood still, breathing heavily and shaking the snow off himself. Nikita wished to lead him farther, but Vasili Andreevich, in his two fur coats, was so out of breath that he could not walk farther and dropped into the sledge.
In the room she had left everyone was in gay humour, and Niel Andreevich condescended to share the general laughter, in which however, neither Raisky nor Vera joined. Paulina Karpovna might be eccentric, but that did not excuse either the loonish amusement of the people assembled or the old man's attacks. Raisky remained gloomily silent, and shifted his feet ominously.
But the horse kept making towards the right, and Vasili Andreevich kept guiding it to the left. Again something dark appeared in front of him. Again he rejoiced, convinced that now it was certainly a village. But once more it was the same boundary line overgrown with wormwood, once more the same wormwood desperately tossed by the wind and carrying unreasoning terror to his heart.
As Nikita entered the house she was offering her guest a small tumbler of thick glass which she had just filled with vodka. 'Don't refuse, Vasili Andreevich, you mustn't! Wish us a merry feast. Drink it, dear! she said. The sight and smell of vodka, especially now when he was chilled through and tired out, much disturbed Nikita's mind.
The dark twining corridor was strewn with rubbish, for no one had the will or wish to keep it neat. Anna Andreevna rummaged by the stove of Sergius Andreevich, Lina's husband, looking among the papers and sweepings.
The good stallion took the sledge along at a brisk pace over the smooth-frozen road through the village, the runners squeaking slightly as they went. 'Look at him hanging on there! Hand me the whip, Nikita! shouted Vasili Andreevich, evidently enjoying the sight of his 'heir, who standing on the runners was hanging on at the back of the sledge. 'I'll give it you! Be off to mamma, you dog!
I am curious to know how you judge men, Boris Pavlovich." "By the impression they produce on me." "Admirable. I like you for your candour. Let us take an example. What is your opinion of me?" "I am afraid of you." Niel Andreevich laughed complacently. "Tell me why. You may speak quite plainly." "Why I am afraid of you?
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