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He was only twice at the Turkins' in the course of the four years after Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone away, on each occasion at the invitation of Vera Iosifovna, who was still undergoing treatment for migraine. Every summer Ekaterina Ivanovna came to stay with her parents, but he did not once see her; it somehow never happened. But now four years had passed.
And he never went to the Turkins' again. Several more years have passed. Startsev has grown stouter still, has grown corpulent, breathes heavily, and already walks with his head thrown back.
On a holiday in the spring it was Ascension Day after seeing his patients, Startsev set off for town in search of a little recreation and to make some purchases. In town he dined, went for a walk in the gardens, then Ivan Petrovitch's invitation came into his mind, as it were of itself, and he decided to call on the Turkins and see what sort of people they were.
And as soon as Dmitri Ionitch Startsev was appointed the district doctor, and took up his abode at Dyalizh, six miles from S , he, too, was told that as a cultivated man it was essential for him to make the acquaintance of the Turkins. In the winter he was introduced to Ivan Petrovitch in the street; they talked about the weather, about the theatre, about the cholera; an invitation followed.
As he eats his supper, he turns round from time to time and puts in his spoke in some conversation: "What are you talking about? Eh? Whom?" And when at a neighbouring table there is talk of the Turkins, he asks: "What Turkins are you speaking of? Do you mean the people whose daughter plays on the piano?" That is all that can be said about him. And the Turkins?
And they used to point to the family of the Turkins as the most highly cultivated and talented. This family lived in their own house in the principal street, near the Governor's. Ivan Petrovitch Turkin himself a stout, handsome, dark man with whiskers used to get up amateur performances for benevolent objects, and used to take the part of an elderly general and cough very amusingly.
The daughter, Ekaterina Ivanovna, a young girl, used to play on the piano. In short, every member of the family had a special talent. The Turkins welcomed visitors, and good-humouredly displayed their talents with genuine simplicity. Their stone house was roomy and cool in summer; half of the windows looked into a shady old garden, where nightingales used to sing in the spring.
On the contrary, he felt as though he could with pleasure have walked another twenty. "Not badsome," he thought, and laughed as he fell asleep. Startsev kept meaning to go to the Turkins' again, but there was a great deal of work in the hospital, and he was unable to find free time. In this way more than a year passed in work and solitude.
But one day a letter in a light blue envelope was brought him from the town. Vera Iosifovna had been suffering for some time from migraine, but now since Kitten frightened her every day by saying that she was going away to the Conservatoire, the attacks began to be more frequent. All the doctors of the town had been at the Turkins'; at last it was the district doctor's turn.
And settling himself with relief in his carriage, he thought: "Och! I ought not to get fat!" The following evening he went to the Turkins' to make an offer. But it turned out to be an inconvenient moment, as Ekaterina Ivanovna was in her own room having her hair done by a hair-dresser. She was getting ready to go to a dance at the club.
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