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Updated: June 8, 2025
Maria Dmitrievna again had recourse to her Eau-de-Cologne and drank some water "why I say this to you, Fedor Ivanich, is because you see I am one of your relations, I take a deep interest in you. I know your heart is excellent. Mark my words, mon cousin at all events I am a woman of experience, and I do not speak at random. Forgive her, Fedor Ivanich! She has been punished enough."
Ivan Ivanich and Bourkin felt wet and uncomfortable through and through; their feet were tired with walking in the mud, and they walked past the dam to the barn in silence as though they were angry with each other. In one of the barns a winnowing-machine was working, sending out clouds of dust.
In the calm weather when all Nature seemed gentle and melancholy, Ivan Ivanich and Bourkin were filled with love for the fields and thought how grand and beautiful the country was. "Last time, when we stopped in Prokofyi's shed," said Bourkin, "you were going to tell me a story." "Yes. I wanted to tell you about my brother."
"What is it all about?" asked Yarchenko in perplexity, raising high his eyebrows. "Don't trouble yourself ... nothing out of the way..." answered Jennie in a still agitated voice. "Just so ... our little family trifles ... Sergei Ivanich, may I have some of your wine?" She poured out half a glass for herself and drank the cognac off at a draught, distending her thin nostrils wide.
Ivan Ivanich, the veterinary surgeon, and Bourkin, the schoolmaster, were tired of walking and the fields seemed endless to them.
"And there is something else that I wanted to say to you, Fedor Ivanich," continued Maria Dmitrievna, drawing a little nearer to him. "If you had only seen how modestly, how respectfully she behaved! Really it was perfectly touching. And if you had only heard how she spoke of you!
Aliokhin said good night and went down-stairs, and left his guests. Each had a large room with an old wooden bed and carved ornaments; in the corner was an ivory crucifix; and their wide, cool beds, made by pretty Pelagueya, smelled sweetly of clean linen. Ivan Ivanich undressed in silence and lay down. "God forgive me, a wicked sinner," he murmured, as he drew the clothes over his head.
"But Ninka says: 'I, she says, 'won't stay with him for anything, though you cut me all to pieces ... He, she says, 'has made me all wet with his spit. Well, the old man complained to the porter, to be sure, and the porter starts in to beat up Ninka, to be sure. And Sergei Ivanich at this time was writing for me a letter home, to the province, and when he heard that Ninka was hollering..."
What fun when the sledge topples over and you are flung hard into a snow-drift; with your face slap into the snow, and you get up all white with your moustaches covered with icicles, hatless, gloveless, with your belt undone.... People laugh and dogs bark.... Pavel Ivanich, with one eye half open looked at Goussiev and asked quietly: "Goussiev, did your commander steal?"
"Thank God for it, Pavel Ivanich." "When I compare myself with you, I am sorry for you ... poor devils. My lungs are all right; my cough comes from indigestion ... I can endure this hell, not to mention the Red Sea! Besides, I have a critical attitude toward my illness, as well as to my medicine. But you ... you are ignorant.... It's hard lines on you, very hard."
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