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The next day Ivan Petrovitch wrote an ironically cold and polite letter to Piotr Andreitch, and set off to the village where lived his second cousin, Dmitri Pestov, with his sister, already known to the reader, Marfa Timofyevna. He told them all, announced his intention to go to Petersburg to try to obtain a post there, and besought them, at least for a time, to give his wife a home.
For my part I think it would be better to give you a good hiding. But there it's her business. Well? are you agreeable? Kapiton grinned. 'Matrimony is an excellent thing for any one, Gavrila Andreitch; and, as far as I am concerned, I shall be quite agreeable. 'Very well, then, replied Gavrila, while he reflected to himself: 'there's no denying the man expresses himself very properly.
Her thoughts were the same as they had been the night before, useless, persistent thoughts, always alike, of how Andrey Andreitch had begun courting her and had made her an offer, how she had accepted him and then little by little had come to appreciate the kindly, intelligent man.
"Ivan Andreitch!" some one called from the next room. "Are you at home?" "I'm here," Laevsky responded. "What do you want?" "Papers." Laevsky got up languidly, feeling giddy, walked into the other room, yawning and shuffling with his slippers. There, at the open window that looked into the street, stood one of his young fellow-clerks, laying out some government documents on the window-sill.
The Englishwoman twitched her brows and blinked . . . . A haughty, disdainful smile passed over her yellow face. "I must cool off," said Gryabov, slapping himself on the ribs. "Tell me if you please, Fyodor Andreitch, why I have a rash on my chest every summer." "Oh, do get into the water quickly or cover yourself with something, you beast."
They walked across the yard and went out into the street and took a cab. Thick clouds of dust were blowing, and it seemed as though it were just going to rain. "You are not cold?" said Andrey Andreitch, screwing up his eyes at the dust. She did not answer. "Yesterday, you remember, Sasha blamed me for doing nothing," he said, after a brief silence. "Well, he is right, absolutely right!
Drive them out, drive them out of the garden! Where is he, the old brigand?" First men's voices are heard, then a woman's. The master himself, Andrey Andreitch, wearing a dressing-gown made of a Persian shawl and carrying a newspaper in his hand, appears from behind the garden fence. He looks inquiringly towards the shouts which come from the river, and then trips rapidly towards the bathing shed.
'With an actor? put in Aratov. 'No, not with an actor, with an actress, to whom she became attached.... It's true this actress had a protector, a wealthy gentleman, no longer young, who did not marry her simply because he happened to be married and indeed I fancy the actress was a married woman. Furthermore Kupfer informed Aratov that Clara had even before her coming to Moscow acted and sung in provincial theatres, that, having lost her friend the actress the gentleman, too, it seemed, had died, or else he had made it up with his wife Kupfer could not quite remember this she had made the acquaintance of the princess, 'that heart of gold, whom you, my dear Yakov Andreitch, the speaker added with feeling, 'were incapable of appreciating properly'; that at last Clara had been offered an engagement in Kazan, and that she had accepted it, though before then she used to declare that she would never leave Moscow!
It's not a beating I'm afraid of, Gavrila Andreitch. A gentleman may chastise me in private, but give me a civil word before folks, and I'm a man still; but see now, whom I've to do with . . ." "Come, get along," Gavrila interposed impatiently. Kapiton turned away and staggered off. "But, if it were not for him," the steward shouted after him, "you would consent for your part?"
'We've sent for the doctor, Maksim, said my neighbour; 'perhaps you may not die yet. He tried to open his eyes, and with an effort raised the lids. 'No, I'm dying. Here... here it is coming... here it.... Forgive me, lads, if in any way.... 'God will forgive you, Maksim Andreitch, said the peasants thickly with one voice, and they took off their caps; 'do you forgive us!
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