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Updated: May 20, 2025
Mísha first roared with laughter again, then he emitted a prolonged whistle. "Well, uncle, I see that thou art in a melancholy frame of mind just now. I'll call another time. But see here: just look in at Sokólniki some evening. I have pitched my tent there. The Gipsies sing.... Well, well! One can hardly restrain himself!
A rascally fellow turned up. But it's no matter! Anyway, I am living as I fancy, and amusing other people. But why are you staring at me like that? Was I, really, to go dragging on in the same old round, do you suppose? ... My dear fellow, couldn't I have a glass of something? Misha spoke fearfully quick and hurriedly, and, at the same time, as though he were only just waked up from sleep.
The money-lender had deprived this old man of his monthly allowance, and driven him off the estate; since then his refuge had been a corner in a peasant's hut. Misha had been too short a time in possession of his estate to have left behind him a particularly favourable memory; still the old servant could not resist running to the churchyard as soon as he heard of his young master's being there.
... As for me, I have a cough too, but I am alive and I believe I'm well. I shan't be with you this summer, as I am going in April, on affairs of my own, to the island of Sahalin, and shall not be back till December. I believe Misha wrote to you as though someone were commissioning me to go, but that's nonsense. I am commissioning myself to go, on my own account.
The sisters had barely time to change for dinner. They entered the dining-room somewhat weary and distraught. They were awaited there by their father Rameyev, the two Matovs the student Piotr Dmitrievitch and the schoolboy Misha, sons of Rameyev's lately deceased cousin to whom Trirodov's estate had previously belonged.
And there are people poorer than I, and much more deserving of help plenty, plenty! Misha was particularly successful with women: he knew how to appeal to their sympathy. But don't suppose that he was or fancied himself a Lovelace....Oh, no! in that way he was very modest.
He did not sign it, but his characteristic handwriting spoke only too clearly. "Wanted to send you some fruit," he wrote, "but here there is no fruit, so you'll have to get some yourself from the South." "Poor Misha, there was something strange about him before he killed himself," she said. "I never asked him for any fruit. He was very nervous, the poor boy, I see it!
"Mísha! Mikhaíl Andréevitch!" I was beginning ... "is it you?" "Call me 'thou' and 'Mísha," he interrupted me. "'Tis I ... 'tis I, in person.... I have come to Moscow ... to take a look at people ... and to show myself. So I have dropped in on you. What do you think of my trotters?... Hey?" Again he laughed loudly.
"Well, you command." He got in. "Come, and as for you, my dear friends, respected comrades," he added to the beggars: "good-bye! Until we meet again!" Mísha took off his kazák cap and made a low bow. The beggars all seemed to be dumbfounded.... I ordered the coachman to whip up the horses, and the calash rolled on.
Mísha declared that he would not enter the house, defiled as it was by the presence of a scoundrel; that he would allow no one to throw him out; but that he was on his way to the churchyard to salute the dust of his ancestors. This he did. At the churchyard he was joined by an old house-serf, who had formerly been his man-nurse.
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