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Updated: May 10, 2025
'No, do tell me, do tell me! 'Really, I don't know. 'Nonsense, come now! 'That... what's her name... Mashenka's all right; not bad-looking. 'There, you see... said Kister and he said no more. Five days later Lutchkov of his own accord suggested that they should call on the Perekatovs.
"Can one see through the smoked glass the line joining the centres of the sun and the earth?" she enquires. I reply that this is only an imaginary line, drawn theoretically. "If it is only an imaginary line, how can the moon cross it?" Varenka says, wondering. I make no reply. I feel my spleen rising at this naïve question. "It's all nonsense," says Mashenka's maman.
"Anna Akimovna," he said, laying his hand on his heart and raising his eyebrows, "you are my mistress and my benefactress, and no one but you can tell me what I ought to do about marriage, for you are as good as a mother to me. . . . But kindly forbid them to laugh and jeer at me downstairs. They won't let me pass without it." "How do they jeer at you?" "They call me Mashenka's Mishenka."
The lady of the house, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick black eyebrows, a faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who was exactly like a plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was standing, without her cap on, at the table, putting back into Mashenka's workbag balls of wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper. . . . Evidently the governess's arrival took her by surprise, since, on looking round and seeing the girl's pale and astonished face, she was a little taken aback, and muttered: "Pardon.
Mashenka's nose begins to swell and turn red, her eyes fill with tears: she evidently expects some answer from me, but, fortunately, at this moment we arrive.
Mashenka's mamma, a good-natured woman but full of conventional ideas, is sitting on the terrace: glancing at her daughter's agitated face, she looks intently at me and sighs, as though saying to herself: "Ah, these young people! they don't even know how to keep their secrets to themselves!"
At that instant, Mashenka's maman appears in the doorway of the arbour. . . . She makes a face as though in alarm, and saying "sh-sh" to someone with her, vanishes like Mephistopheles through the trapdoor. Confused and enraged, I return to our villa. At home I find Varenka's maman embracing my maman with tears in her eyes. And my maman weeps and says: "I always hoped for it!"
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