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'Oh, you'd better go back to her, then! ... 'Stupid! Do you suppose that's why I say so? Understand me ... 'Oh! I understand you, Onisim answered with a heavy sigh. Another week passed by. Pyetushkov had positively given up talking with his Onisim, and had given up going out. From morning till night he lay on the sofa, his hands behind his head.
'What neckerchief? 'Why, the yellow one. 'The yellow one? 'Yes, the yellow, figured one. 'No, I've not taken it. Pyetushkov bent down to Vassilissa. 'Listen to me, Vassilissa; listen to what I am saying to you. It is not a matter of taps or of neckerchiefs just now; you can attend to such trifles another time. Vassilissa did not budge from her position; she only lifted her head.
To the tailor Kuprian Apollonov ... Ivan Afanasiitch suddenly raised his head, put out his hand and mixed up the counters. 'What are you about, my good man? cried Praskovia Ivanovna. 'Don't you trust me? 'Praskovia Ivanovna, replied Pyetushkov, with a hurried smile, 'I've thought better of it. I was only, you know ... joking. We'd better remain friends and go on in the old way.
'Laugh away, laugh away, Pyetushkov muttered between his teeth. Vassilissa held her sides, gasping. 'But what is it, idiot? But Vassilissa could only wave her hands. Ivan Afanasiitch snatched up his cap, and ran out of the house. With rapid, unsteady steps, he walked about the town, walked on and on, and found himself at the city gates.
Pyetushkov felt angry with her and with himself.... 'It's dull, said Vassilissa lazily. 'I tell you what, would you like me to read you poetry? 'What say? 'Poetry ... good poetry. 'No, that's enough, really. Pyetushkov hurriedly picked up Kozlov's poem, jumped up, crossed the room, ran impulsively up to Vassilissa, and began reading.
Pyetushkov began smoking; the pipe wheezed like a broken-winded horse. 'How disgusting! cried Ivan Afanasiitch; 'where's my cherry wood pipe? 'At the baker's shop, Onisim responded tranquilly. Pyetushkov blinked spasmodically. 'Well, you wish me to go for it? 'No, you needn't; don't go ... no need, don't go, do you hear? 'Yes, sir. The night passed somehow.
He was shy with acquaintances, and exceedingly mild in his manner with persons over whose lot he could have exerted control.... People condemned by fate to a monotonous and cheerless existence often acquire all sorts of little habits and preferences. Pyetushkov liked to have a new white roll with his tea every morning. He could not do without this dainty.
'You laughed, you laughed, my love! cried Pyetushkov, and he capered about like a child. The next day Pyetushkov went to the baker's shop as usual. Everything went on as before. But there was a settled ache at his heart. He did not laugh now as often, and sometimes he fell to musing. Sunday came.
'Wouldn't you like to undress, sir ... you should go to bed ... you should take some raspberry tea ... don't grieve, please your honour.... It's only half a trouble, it's all nothing ... it'll be all right in the end, he said to him every two minutes.... But Pyetushkov did not get up from the sofa, and only twitched his shoulders now and then, and drew up his knees to his stomach....
The nephew of the hired man, Luka, a little boy, friend and confidant of the goat that lived in the yard, darted swiftly to the little gate, directly he caught sight of Ivan Afanasiitch in the distance. Praskovia Ivanovna came out to meet Pyetushkov. 'Is your niece at home? asked Pyetushkov. 'No, sir. Pyetushkov was inwardly relieved at Vassilissa's absence.
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