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Updated: June 26, 2025
You're not well, Masha. 'My head does ache a little, said Masha, to find some way of escape. 'There, I knew it. Nenila Makarievna put some scent on Masha's forehead. 'You're not feverish, though. Masha stooped down, and picked a thread off the floor. Nenila Makarievna's arms lay softly round Masha's slender waist.
She had grown fonder and fonder of him every day; happiness was for her a much more urgent need than passion. Besides, Avdey had turned her from all exaggerated desires, and she renounced them joyfully and for ever. Nenila Makarievna loved Kister like a son. Sergei Sergeitch as usual followed his wife's lead.
Not a cloud anywhere. The blue of the sky was so thick and dark on the horizon that the eye mistook it for storm-cloud. The house Mr. Perekatov had erected for a summer residence had been, with the foresight usual in the steppes, built with every window directly facing the sun. Nenila Makarievna had every shutter closed from early morning. Kister walked into the cool, half-dark drawing-room.
Perekatov's daughter, Mashenka, was in face like her father. Nenila Makarievna had taken the greatest pains with her education. She spoke French well, and played the piano fairly.
Nenila Makarievna was sitting on the sofa, gazing in silence at the floor. 'Did you send an invitation to the regiment at Kirilovo, Sergei Sergeitch? she asked her husband. 'For this evening? 'There are positively no gentlemen, pursued Nenila Makarievna. 'Nobody for the girls to dance with. Her husband sighed, as though crushed by the absence of partners.
He was, moreover, well content with his lot; he dined very well, did as he liked, and slept all he could. Nenila Makarievna had introduced into her household 'foreign ways, as the neighbours used to say; she kept few servants, and had them neatly dressed.
Kister suddenly, apropos of nothing, plunged into a rather high-flown discourse upon love in the abstract, and upon friendship... but catching Nenila Makarievna's bright and vigilant eye he, as abruptly, changed the subject. The sunset was brilliant and glowing. A broad, level meadow lay outstretched before the birch copse.
Avdey Ivanovitch noticed the glance, shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, and walked away into the other room. Several months had passed since that evening. Lutchkov had not once been at the Perekatovs'. But Kister visited them pretty often. Nenila Makarievna had taken a fancy to him, but it was not she that attracted Fyodor Fedoritch. He liked Masha.
Fyodor Fedoritch was not however quite at ease; he felt something like a stir of envy within him... and was generously indignant with himself. Nenila Makarievna came down into the drawing-room. Tea was brought in. Mr.
Perekatov had once been an officer in the cavalry, but from love of a country life and from indolence he had retired and had begun to live peaceably and quietly, as landowners of the middling sort do live. Nenila Makarievna owed her existence in a not perfectly legitimate manner to a distinguished gentleman of Moscow.
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