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I remain respectfully your obedient servant, Onisim carried this letter to its address. A fortnight passed. Onisim went every morning as usual to the baker's shop. One day Vassilissa ran out to meet him. 'Good morning, Onisim Sergeitch. Onisim put on a gloomy expression, and responded crossly, ''Morning. 'How is it you never come to see us, Onisim Sergeitch? Onisim glanced morosely at her.
Bublitsyn's a real gentleman what a gentleman ought to be. But what are you, Ivan Afanasiitch, what are you? Tell me that. 'Why, I'm a gentleman too. 'A gentleman, indeed! ... retorted Onisim, growing indignant. 'A pretty gentleman you are! You're no better, sir, than a hen in a shower of rain, Ivan Afanasiitch, let me tell you.
'What should I come for? you wouldn't give me a cup of tea, no fear. 'Yes, I would, Onisim Sergeitch, I would. You come and see. Rum in it, too. Onisim slowly relaxed into a smile. 'Well, I don't mind if I do, then. 'When, then when? 'When ... well, you are ... 'To-day this evening, if you like. Drop in.
Give me my pipe.... So she, he went on after a short silence Vassilissa, I mean, says then ... But Onisim had no desire to continue the conversation, and he assumed his habitual morose expression. Ivan Afanasiitch's acquaintance with Praskovia Ivanovna began in the following manner. Five days after his conversation with Onisim, Pyetushkov set off in the evening to the baker's shop.
'Ivan Afanasiitch, mercy on us! wailed Onisim. 'To be sure. To be sure I will, replied Pyetushkov with a vague wave of his hand. 'I'll have mercy on you, and forgive you. I forgive every one, I forgive you, and Vassilissa I forgive, and every one, every one.
Onisim swayed complacently backwards and forwards. 'Do you know Praskovia Ivanovna? he asked at last. 'No. What Praskovia Ivanovna? 'Why, the baker woman! 'Oh yes, the baker woman. I've seen her; she's very fat. 'She's a worthy woman. She's own aunt to the other, to your girl. 'Aunt? 'Why, didn't you know? 'No, I didn't know. 'Well ...
'Why, don't you know? ... I've been to see Vassilissa. Pyetushkov blinked and turned over on his bed. 'So that's how it is, observed Onisim, and he coolly took a pinch of snuff. 'So that's how it is. You're always like that. Vassilissa sends you her duty. 'Really? 'Really? So that's all about it. Really! ... She told me to say, Why is it, says she, one never sees him?
One would say that there was nothing unusual in her. It's true she has a good heart. That one can't deny her. 'Good heart, indeed! Onisim would answer with displeasure. 'Come, now, Onisim, Pyetushkov went on, 'one must tell the truth. It's a thing of the past now; it's no matter to me now, but justice is justice. You don't know her. She's very good-hearted.
'Oh, nothing, said Pyetushkov, taking off his boots with his own hands. 'Well, she's a fine girl! Onisim observed condescendingly. 'Yes, ... she's not bad-looking, said Ivan Afanasiitch, also looking away. 'And what's her name, do you know? 'Vassilissa. 'And do you know her? Onisim did not answer for a minute or two. 'We know her.
But Pyetushkov did not even look at his servant; he turned away and buried himself in the corner of the sofa again. Onisim got up, went up to his master, stood over him, and twice he tugged at his own hair.
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