Stepan Mihailovitch joined fervently in the prayers, and so did his daughter-in-law. When the service was over, all kissed the Cross, and the priest sprinkled the young pair and the rest of the company with holy water. Then the kissing and embracing began over again, with the phrases customary on such occasions—"We beg that you will regard us as relations and love us," and so on—said of course by those to whom the bride was still a stranger. Stepan Mihailovitch said nothing: he only looked affectionately at the tearful eyes and flaming cheeks of Sofya Nikolayevna, listened attentively to every word she spoke, and noted her every movement. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the drawing-room, where he sat down on the sofa and made the pair sit near him. Arina Vassilyevna seated herself next to her son at the other end of the sofa, while her daughters with their husbands sat round the central group. It should be said that Stepan Mihailovitch never sat in the drawing-room: he entered it very seldom and never stayed long. There were only two parts of the house which he used—his own room, and the outside stoop, a very simple contrivance of beams and boards; there he was thoroughly at home, but in the drawing-room he was never quite at his ease. For once he put constraint upon himself and carried on a friendly conversation with his daughter-in-law. He began by asking about her father's health, and expressed sincere regret on hearing that he grew weaker daily: "In that case, my dear," he said, "I must not keep you too long at Bagrovo." It need not be said that the bride was at no loss for words: she was not merely polite, but cordial and eager to make a good impression. Arina Vassilyevna, naturally a very simple woman, took her tone from her husband, as far as her intelligence and her dread of disobeying her daughters would let her. She was friendly to her son's wife and had taken a real liking to her at first sight; but the others were silent, and it was not hard to guess their feelings from their faces. After half an hour the bride whispered to her husband, who rose at once and went to the bedroom which had been specially prepared for them, near the drawing-room. Stepan Mihailovitch looked on with surprise; but the bride's lively talk engaged his attention, and he was so much interested by it that he was startled when presently the folding doors of the bedroom opened and his son came in, holding a large silver salver so loaded with presents for the family that it actually bent under their weight. Sofya Nikolayevna sprang to her feet; she took from the salver and presented to her father-in-law a piece of fine English broadcloth, and a waistcoat of watered silk, richly laced with gold thread and embroidered all over with spangles; and she told him quite truly that she had worked it all with her own hands. Stepan Mihailovitch looked uneasily at his son standing with the salver in his arms, but he accepted the presents graciously and kissed his daughter-in-law. Next, Arina Vassilyevna was presented with a silk handkerchief covered with gold embroidery, to wear over her head, and a complete length of excellent China silk, which even then was considered a rarity; each sister-in-law received a piece of costly silk, and each of their husbands a piece of English broadcloth; but these presents were naturally rather less valuable. All got up, kissed the hands of the donor, and bowed their thanks. Meanwhile the door leading to the parlour was cracking with the pressure of curious spectators of both sexes, and the well-oiled heads of the maids kept peeping timidly out of the bedroom door, which they had to themselves, because none of the outdoor servants dared to enter the elegant apartment of the young couple. In the parlour there was a great noise; for the menservants were prevented by the intruders from laying the table, and were unable to turn them out. Stepan Mihailovitch guessed what was going on; he got up and glanced through the door; one look and one quiet word was enough: "Off," he said, and the parlour was empty in a moment.

The dinner passed off in the usual fashion. The young pair sat side by side between the old couple; there were a great many courses, one richer and more indigestible than another; the cook Stepan had been lavish with his spice, cloves, and pepper, and especially with his butter. The bride ate the dainties pressed upon her by Stepan Mihailovitch, and prayed that she might not die in the night. There was little talking, partly because every mouth was otherwise occupied, and also because the party were not good at conversation. Indeed they were all uncomfortable in their own ways. Yerlykin in his sober intervals drank nothing but water, and hardly spoke at all at such times, which gained him a reputation for exceptional intelligence; and Karatayeff dared not open his mouth in the presence of Stepan Mihailovitch except to answer a question, and went no further than repeating the last words of other people's remarks. If they said: "The hay crop will be good, if we get no rain," or "The rye made a good start till that sudden frost came"—Karatayeff came in like an echo, "if we get no rain," "till the frost came"; and his repetitions were sometimes ill-timed. As the hosts had not thought of procuring sparkling wine from Ufa, the health of the bride and bridegroom was drunk in strawberry wine, three years old and as thick as oil, which diffused about the room the delicious perfume of the wild strawberry. Mazan, with long boots smelling of tar on his feet, and wearing a long coat which made him look like a bear dressed up in sacking, handed round the loving-cup; it was ornamented with a white pattern and had a dark-blue spiral inside its glass stalk. When the young pair had to return thanks, Sofya Nikolayevna was not much pleased to drink from the cup which had just left Karatayeff's greasy lips; but she made no wry faces. Indeed she was intending to drain the cup, when her father-in-law stopped her: "Don't drink it all, my dear," he said; "the liquor is good and sweet but strong; you are not accustomed to it, and your little head would ache." She declared that such a noble drink could not hurt her, and begged to be allowed a little more, till Stepan Mihailovitch allowed her one sip from the cup which he held in his hands.

It was clear to all the family that the old man was pleased with his daughter-in-law and liked all that she said. And she could see this herself, though she had been surprised twice over by a shadow of displeasure passing over his face. But more than once during the meal she had encountered his expressive look, as his eyes rested with satisfaction on her. At last the long and solemn dinner came to an end. Sofya Nikolayevna, unlike the rest, had found this rustic feast very wearisome, but she had done her best to enliven it by cheerful conversation. When they rose from table, his son and daughters kissed their father's hand, and Sofya Nikolayevna tried to do so too, but the old man embraced and kissed her instead. It was the second time this had happened, and Sofya Nikolayevna, with her natural impulsiveness, asked him in a lively affectionate tone: "Why do you not give me your hand, batyushka? I am your daughter too, and I wish to kiss your hand out of love and respect, like the rest." The old man looked at her keenly and attentively; then he said in a kind voice: "I love you, my dear, but I am not a priest,⁴² and no one kisses my hand except my own children."

The party went back to the drawing-room and sat down where they were before. The maid Aksyutka brought in coffee, which was only served on very solemn occasions; the old man did not drink it, but all his family were very fond of it; they always called it "coff," never "coffee." When it was swallowed, Stepan Mihailovitch rose and said: "Now it is time to have a good sleep, and the young people too would be none the worse of a rest after their journey"; then he went off to his own room, escorted by his son and daughter-in-law. "This is my den, my dear," said the old man cheerfully; "sit down and be my guest. As your husband knows, it was an exception for me to sit in the drawing-room with you all, with this bearing-rein on, as well," and he pointed to his stock: "and in future, if any one wants my society, I shall welcome them here." Then he kissed her, gave his hand to his son to kiss, and let them go. When alone, he undressed and lay down, to rest from the unusual bodily exertions and mental excitement of the day. He was soon sound asleep; and his powerful snoring echoed through the house and swayed to and fro the curtains which Mazan had drawn round his old master.

His example was followed by the rest. Yerlykin and Karatayeff went off to the stable to lie down on the haymow; both their faces showed that they had done well at dinner, and Karatayeff had also drunk too much. The daughters assembled in their mother's room which was separate from their father's; and now began such a debate and discussion, carried on in whispers, that not one of the party even lay down to sleep that afternoon. Poor Sofya Nikolayevna was their theme, and her sisters-in-law simply tore her to pieces; they were enraged beyond all bounds by their father's evident partiality for her. But there was one kind heart there—Aksinya, the eldest sister, who was now a widow for the second time; she stood up for Sofya Nikolayevna and brought down their wrath on her own head: they turned her out of the room and banished her for the future from their family councils; and to her old nickname of "Miss Simplicity," they now added another offensive title which she still bore in advanced old age. Yet, for all the persecution of her sisters, her kind heart never swerved from its devotion to her sister-in-law.

Meanwhile the young pair went off to their own fine bedroom. With the help of her own maid Parasha, a brisk, black-eyed girl, Sofya Nikolayevna unpacked the large number of boxes and trunks which the English coach had brought from Ufa. Parasha was able already to run through a list of outdoor servants and old people among the peasants who deserved special notice; and her mistress, who had brought with her a goodly store of trifles, fixed the present to be given to each, taking account of their age and services, and the respect which their owners had for them. The husband and wife were not tired and did not think it necessary to rest. Sofya Nikolayevna changed into a simpler dress, and left Parasha to finish the unpacking and arrangement of the bedroom, while she went out with her young husband, who was very anxious, in spite of the heat, to show her all his favourite haunts—the beech-wood, the island with its lime-trees just coming into leaf, and the transparent waters of the river where it made a bend round the island. And how delightful it was there at that season, when the freshness of spring combines with the warmth of summer! AlexyÉi Stepanitch was passionately in love with his adored wife, and time had not yet blunted the edge of his happiness; but he was disconcerted to find that she was not charmed either by wood or island, and indeed took little notice of either. She sat down in the shade on the bank of the rapid river, and began at once to speak to her husband of his relations. She discussed their reception. "I like your father so much," she went on, "and I could see at the first glance that he liked me; perhaps your mother liked me, but she seemed afraid to show it. Aksinya seems the kindest of them, but she is afraid of something too. Oh, I understand it all perfectly; I know in what quarter the damp wood is smouldering. I did not miss a single word or a single glance; I know what I am bound to expect. God will judge your sisters, Elizabeth and Alexandra!" But AlexyÉi Stepanitch was hardly listening to her words. The fresh shade, the green of the boughs bending over the stream, the low ripple of the running water, the fish jumping, his adored wife sitting beside him with one arm round his waist—in such surroundings how was it possible to find fault or make objections or express discontent? How was it possible even to take in what was said? And in fact AlexyÉi Stepanitch did not take in what his young wife was saying to him: he was so happy that nothing but silence and oblivion of the world around him could serve as a full expression of his intoxicating bliss. But Sofya Nikolayevna went on: she said a great deal, with warmth and feeling; and then she noticed that her husband was not listening and was nearly asleep. She sprang up at once, and then followed a scene of conflict and mutual misunderstanding, more pronounced than any they had ever had before, though there had been premonitory symptoms once or twice already. Sofya Nikolayevna kept nothing back this time: the tears rushed from her eyes as she poured forth a torrent of reproaches for his indifference and inattention. AlexyÉi Stepanitch was puzzled and distressed: he felt as if he had fallen from the skies or awakened from a delightful dream. Thinking to calm his wife, he assured her with perfect sincerity, that there was nothing wrong at all, that it was all her imagination, and that all the family loved her; how could any one help loving her, he asked. That he was honestly convinced of this was clear as day; and his eyes and face and voice all expressed his devoted love to his wife; yet Sofya Nikolayevna, for all her cleverness and lively sensibility, did not understand her husband, and found in his words only a fresh proof of the same indifference and inattention. Statements and explanations went on with increasing heat, and I do not know how far they would have gone; but suddenly AlexyÉi Stepanitch caught sight of his sister Tatyana's maid crossing the high gangway and hastening towards them. He guessed that they were being searched for because his father had got up, and told his wife at once what he feared. She regained her self-control in a moment, caught his arm, and hastened home with him; but he was not in good spirits as he walked behind her.

Preparations had been made beforehand at Bagrovo to celebrate the day of the young people's arrival by an entertainment given to the outdoor servants and all the serfs on the estate; and, if serfs from neighbouring estates chose to come on foot or on wheels, they were welcome too. A quantity of beer had been brewed, and some twenty buckets of strong home-made spirits distilled; and drinking vessels of all kinds were ready. Before he lay down after dinner, Stepan Mihailovitch had asked whether many had come from the neighbouring villages. When he was told that the whole population, from the old men and women to the babies, had assembled, he smiled and said, "Well, we shall not stint them; tell the housekeeper and steward to have everything ready." He did not sleep long, but he woke in even better spirits than when he lay down. "Is all ready?" he asked at once, and was told that all was ready long ago. The old man dressed quickly; instead of his ceremonial frock-coat, he put on his familiar dressing-gown of fine camel's hair, and went out to the stoop to superintend the entertainment in person. On the broad lawn which was not fenced off from the road, tables had been put up on trestles, and the tables were laden with barrels of beer, casks of whisky, and piles of buns to eat with the liquor; these buns, made of wheat-flour, were cut in halves. The outdoor servants stood in a group apart near the house; a great crowd of serfs and their wives stood further off, and beyond them a still greater crowd of Mordvinians of both sexes. Stepan Mihailovitch threw a hasty glance over the scene, saw that all was in order, and went back to his stoop. The family had collected round him, and he was just going to ask where the young couple were, when they appeared together. He greeted his daughter-in-law even more affectionately than before, and treated her with no more formality than if she had been his own daughter. "Now then, Alosha," he said, "take your wife's arm and lead her round to greet the people; they are all anxious to see her and kiss the hand of their young mistress. Let us start!" He went in front himself; then came AlexyÉi Stepanitch, leading his wife, and last, at a little distance, Arina Vassilyevna with her daughters and their husbands. The sisters-in-law, except Aksinya, found it hard to restrain their wrath. The signs of growing affection on their father's part, his mention of Sofya Nikolayevna as "the young mistress," the triumph of this hated intruder, her beauty and pretty clothes, her ready easy tongue, her charming respect and affection for her father-in-law—all these things rankled in their jealous bosoms. They felt at once that they had sunk in importance. "It matters less to us," whispered Alexandra; "we are severed branches; but I can't look at Tanyusha without crying. She is nothing now in the household but Sofya Nikolayevna's maid. And you, mother—no one will respect you any more: the servants will all look to her for orders." Her voice shook, and the tears gathered in her round rolling eyes. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch had got to the outdoor servants and was calling the peasants to come nearer: "Why don't you all stand together? You all belong to the same family. Well," he went on, "here you see your young mistress; the young master you know already. When the time comes, serve them as faithfully and zealously as you have served me and Arina Vassilyevna, and you will earn their love and favour." All the people bowed to the ground. The bride, unaccustomed to such demonstrations, felt disconcerted, not knowing where to go or what to do. Noticing this, her father-in-law said: "Don't be frightened! Their heads may bend, but they won't come off. Well, my friends, first kiss your young mistress's hand, and then drink to her health." The people all got up and came near Sofya Nikolayevna. She looked round and signed to her man Theodore and handy Parasha, who were standing at one side, holding the presents. In a moment they handed her a large parcel and a well-filled box. It felt strange to her to stretch out her hand to be kissed while standing motionless as a statue; and she began to kiss them all herself. This ceremony was repeated, as each received a gift from her hands. But Stepan Mihailovitch interfered at this point: he saw that at that rate he would not get his tea till supper-time. "My dear," he said, "you can't possibly kiss them all once, let alone twice! There are too many. The old people are a different matter; but it will be enough if they kiss your hand." This simplified and shortened the rather tiresome ceremony, but even so it lasted a long time. Stepan Mihailovitch sometimes spun it out himself, because he could not refrain from naming some of the people and praising them to her. Many of the old people spoke some simple words of love and devotion, some shed tears, and all looked at the bride with pleasure and cordiality. Sofya Nikolayevna was much moved. "These good people are ready to love me, and some love me already," she thought; "how have I deserved it?" At last, when young and old had kissed her hand and she had kissed some of them, and when all had received handsome presents, Stepan Mihailovitch took her hand and led her to the crowd of Mordvinians. "I am glad to see you, neighbours," he cried in a hearty cheerful voice; "and thank you for coming. I ask your goodwill for this young lady who is coming to live near you. You are welcome to eat and drink what God has given us." The Mordvinians showed their pleasure by shouting, "Many thanks, Stepan Mihailovitch! Thank God, for giving such a wife to your son! You deserve such luck for your goodness, Stepan Mihailovitch."

When the drinking began, Stepan Mihailovitch surrounded by his family hastened back to his beloved stoop. He was conscious that his tea-time was long past: it was now past seven, and tea was invariably served at six. The long shadow of the house was sloping towards the south, and its edges touched the storehouse and stable; the samovar had long been hissing on a large table close to the stoop, and Aksyutka was in attendance. While the rest sat down round the table, Stepan Mihailovitch stuck to his favourite place: he first spread out his invariable woollen mat to sit on, and then sat down on the stoop. Tatyana, assisted by Aksyutka, poured out tea. Then Sofya Nikolayevna asked leave of her father-in-law to sit beside him, and he consented with obvious satisfaction. She sprang up from the table, carried her half-finished cup of tea to the stoop, and sat down beside the old man. He caressed her and ordered a mat to be put down for her, that she might not spoil her dress. Then they began a lively, cheerful talk; but at the tea-table angry looks and even whispers were exchanged, in spite of the presence of the young husband. He could not help noticing this, and his spirits, which had not been high before, fell yet lower. Suddenly the old man's loud voice rang out: "Come and join us, Alosha; it's livelier over here." Alosha started; but the change of place seemed to improve his spirits. When tea was over, they remained where they were and went on talking till supper, which was served at nine—an hour later than usual. All the time the loud singing and hearty laughter of the revellers rang out far and wide as the darkness slowly gathered round; but they all departed to their own homes as soon as the family had finished supper. On saying "good night" Sofya Nikolayevna asked her father-in-law to give her his blessing, and the old man at once signed her with the Cross and kissed her with a father's tenderness.

The young couple were escorted to their room by the lady of the house and her eldest daughter, who sat there a few minutes; and then it was the turn of AlexyÉi Stepanitch to escort his mother and sister to rest. Sofya Nikolayevna hastily dismissed her maid and sat down by one of the open windows fronting the river, which was fringed at that point by a thick border of osier and alder. It was a lovely night: the freshness from the river and the scent of the young leaves came through the open windows, together with the trills and calls of the nightingales. But Sofya Nikolayevna had something else to think of. As a clever woman who knew in advance what awaited her in her husband's family, she had naturally formed a plan of action beforehand. She had always lived in a town and had no conception of the sort of life led by landowners of moderate means on their scattered estates in that vast country. She had not expected much, but the reality was far worse than she had imagined. Nothing was to her taste, neither house, nor garden, nor wood, nor island. In the neighbourhood of Ufa she had been accustomed to admire noble views from the mountainous bank of the river ByÉlaya; and this little village in a hollow, the time-stained and weather-beaten wooden house, the pond surrounded by swamps, and the unending clack of the mill—all this seemed to her actually repulsive. And the people were no better: from her husband's family to the peasants' children, she could love none of them. But there was one exception, and that was Stepan Mihailovitch. But for him, she would have been in despair. She had formed a favourable opinion of him from the beginning; then, when she first saw him, she was frightened by his rough exterior; but she soon read in his intelligent eyes and kindly smile, and heard in his voice, that this old man had a tender heart which beat kindly to her, that he was ready to love her and would love her. Knowing from the first that all her hopes depended upon him, she had firmly resolved to gain his love by all means; but now she had learnt to love him herself, and her deliberate plan coincided with the impulse of her heart. In this respect Sofya Nikolayevna was satisfied with herself: she saw that she had reached her goal at once. But she was distressed by the thought that by her impetuosity she had hurt her kind husband. She waited impatiently for him, but, as if to spite her, he did not return. Had she known where he was, she would have hurried off in search of him long ago. She longed to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness with tears, and to remove the last trace of dissatisfaction from his mind by a torrent of loving words and caresses. But AlexyÉi Stepanitch still did not return; and the happy moment, when she was penitent and loving and filled with a passionate desire to atone for her fault, went by to no purpose. An impulse soon passes, and Sofya Nikolayevna first grew alarmed and then angry at her husband's long absence. When he came in at last, looking rather upset and distressed, instead of rushing into his arms and begging to be forgiven, his wife called out to him in an excited and somewhat irritated voice, as soon as he crossed the threshold: "Where on earth have you been? Why did you leave me alone? I am quite worn out with waiting for you two whole hours!" "I sat a quarter of an hour or so with my mother and sisters," he answered. "And that was time enough for them to complain of me and invent calumnies against me, and you believed them! Why are you so depressed and sad?" Sofya Nikolayevna's face expressed strong emotion, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. The young husband was startled and even alarmed; he was beginning to dread her tears. "Sonitchka," he said, "calm yourself; no one complained of you; why should they, when you have injured no one?" This was not quite a true statement. If nobody had complained openly or attacked her in plain terms, they had implied by hints and allusions that his wife was singling out her father-in-law to pay court to, with the object of trampling on the rest of the family; but they saw through her tricks, and so would her husband some day when he found himself under her feet! AlexyÉi Stepanitch did not believe these innuendoes; but the feeling of sadness, which had never left him since the scene on the island, became heavier and lay like lead on his kind heart. He only said, "It is no use talking like that," and left the room. But, instead of returning at once to his bedroom, he spent some time in walking alone up and down the parlour which was now dark and empty. Through the seven open windows he looked at the Jackdaw Wood sleeping in darkness, and at the dark line of trees by the river, the scene of his childhood's amusements and occupations; and he listened to the sound of the mill, the whistles of the nightingales, and the screeching of the owls. Feeling somewhat relieved, he went off to the bedroom, entirely unconscious of the reception he was to meet there.

But Sofya Nikolayevna soon grew calmer: the voice of penitence began to speak again in her heart, though not with the same force as before; she changed her tone and turned to her husband with a genuine feeling of love and pity; she caressed him and begged his forgiveness. She spoke with unfeigned warmth of her happiness in finding that she loved his father, and begged him to be perfectly frank with her: frankness, she said, was essential between them. Her husband was soothed and comforted; and in the fullness of his heart he told her all he had determined to keep secret at all costs, lest he should make a quarrel between his wife and his sisters. He lay down and went to sleep at once, but Sofya Nikolayevna lay awake for long, and her brain worked busily. At last she remembered that she had to get up early, because she intended to join her father-in-law on the stoop at sunrise, long before the family assembled; she wished to cheer the old man by her presence and to speak her mind to him at leisure. At last, with a strong effort, she fell asleep.

Sofya Nikolayevna woke with the first rays of the sun. Though she had not slept long, she rose fresh and vigorous. She dressed quickly, kissed her husband and told him she was going to his father and he might sleep on another hour or so, and then hurried off. Stepan Mihailovitch, after sleeping longer than usual, had just washed himself and gone out to the stoop. It was a lovely May morning, with all the charm of late spring, fresh and yet deliciously warm; all living things sang together for joy, and the long morning shadows still hid the coolness and moisture from the conquering rays of the sun. The feeling of the morning took hold of Sofya Nikolayevna and breathed life into her, though she was not accustomed to be moved by natural beauty or the charms of the country. Her father-in-law was surprised and pleased to see her. Her fresh face and shining eyes, her neat hair and pretty dress, made it impossible to guess that she had sprung out of bed after little sleep and had spent but little time over her toilet before she hurried out. Stepan Mihailovitch liked people to be lively and quick and clever; and all these requirements he was pleased to find in Sofya Nikolayevna. He kissed her and said good-humouredly: "What made you get up so early? You can't have had your sleep out. I'm sure you're not accustomed to rise so early; you will have a headache." "No, batyushka," she replied, embracing the old man with genuine tenderness; "I am used to early rising. From childhood I have had much to do and many cares, with a sick father and a whole family to look after. Of late I have been spoilt and have lain in bed longer. But I woke early this morning, and AlexyÉi told me"—here the old man frowned—"that you were up already; so I came out here, hoping that you would not drive me away but allow me to give you your tea." The words were ordinary enough, but they came from the heart and were spoken so earnestly that the old man was touched. He kissed her forehead and said: "Well, in that case, thank you, my dear child. You shall give me my tea, and we shall have a leisurely talk together." Aksyutka had already set the samovar on the table. Stepan Mihailovitch gave orders that no one else should be called, and Sofya Nikolayevna began to arrange about the tea. All her actions were as quick and neat as if she had done nothing else all her life. The old man was pleased, as he watched that young and pretty figure so unlike what he was accustomed to, and those busy active fingers. The tea was made strong, and served exactly as he liked it: that is, the teapot, covered with a napkin, was placed on the top of the samovar; his cup was filled close up to the brim; Sofya Nikolayevna handed it without spilling a single drop in the saucer; and the fragrant beverage was so hot that it burnt his lips. The old man took his cup and tasted the tea. With surprise and pleasure he said: "I declare you are a witch: you know all my tastes and fancies. Well, if you make yourself as pleasant to your husband, he will be a happy man." He generally drank his tea alone, and the family did not begin theirs till he had finished; but this morning, when he had got his second cup, he told his daughter-in-law to pour one out for herself and drink it sitting beside him. "I never drink more than two, but I will take a third cup to-day; the tea tastes better somehow," he said in the kindest of tones. And indeed, the pleasure which Sofya Nikolayevna felt in her occupation was so visible on her expressive face that it could not but communicate itself to the susceptible nature of Stepan Mihailovitch; and his spirits rose unusually high. He made her take a second cup and eat a scone, of the kind for which the ovens at Bagrovo were long famous. The tea was cleared away, and a conversation began, most lively and animated, most frank and affectionate. Sofya Nikolayevna gave free course to her eager feelings; she talked easily and charmingly; her conquest of the old man was complete. In the middle of their talk he suddenly asked, "What of your husband? Is he asleep?" "AlexyÉi was waking when I left him," she said quickly; "but I told him to sleep on." The old man frowned severely and was silent. After a moment's reflexion, he spoke, not angrily but seriously. "Listen to me, my dear little daughter-in-law; you are so clever that I can tell you the truth without beating about the bush. I don't like to keep a thing on my mind. If you take my advice—well and good; if you don't—well, you are not my daughter and can please yourself. I don't like your calling your husband 'AlexyÉi,' as his parents might; he has got another name;⁴³ 'AlexyÉi' is a name you might address to a servant. A wife must treat her husband with respect if she wishes other people to respect him. There was another thing yesterday I did not like: you sent him to fetch the presents, and he stood there holding the tray like a footman. Then again just now, you said you had 'told' him to go to sleep. A wife ought not to give orders to her husband; if she does, mischief comes of it. That may be the fashion with you in the town, but, according to our old-fashioned country notions, all that is a great mistake." Sofya Nikolayevna listened respectfully, and then she spoke, so frankly and feelingly, that every word made its way to the old man's heart: "I thank you, batyushka, for not keeping back from me what displeased you. I shall gladly do what you wish, and I begin to see myself that I was wrong. I am still young, batyushka, and I have had no one to guide me: my own father has not left his bed for six years. I caught up that way of addressing my husband from others; but it shall never happen again, either in your presence or behind your back. Batyushka," she went on, and the large tears welled from her eyes, "I have come to love you like a father; treat me always as a daughter: stop me, scold me, whenever I do wrong, but forgive me and do not keep displeasure in your heart against me. I am young and hasty, and I may go wrong at every step. Remember that I am a stranger in this house, where nobody knows me and I know nobody. Do not you fail me." Then she fell on his neck and embraced him like a daughter, kissing his breast and even his hands; and the old man's own eyes filled with tears. He let her keep hold of his hands and said, "Well, that is all right." As we know already, Stepan Mihailovitch had a natural sagacity which divined the presence of evil and was attracted by goodness; and he never made a mistake in either case. He had taken a fancy to his daughter-in-law at first sight; and now that he understood her and appreciated her, he loved her for better and for worse. That love was exposed to many trials in later years, and any other man might have wavered, but he never wavered in his love for her to his last breath.

AlexyÉi Stepanitch soon appeared, and was followed by all the family. Her daughters had urged Arina Vassilyevna to go out long before, but she did not dare to appear, because, when Stepan Mihailovitch gave orders "that no one should be called," it was taken to mean that he did not wish to see any one. She only came out now because her husband had told Mazan to summon all the family. There was no trace of tears on Sofya Nikolayevna's face; and she greeted the newcomers with more than usual cordiality. Nor could one tell from Stepan Mihailovitch that anything unusual had happened; but the bride could not conceal her high spirits, and the two sisters-in-law noticed this at once and guessed the alarming truth pretty accurately.

Stepan Mihailovitch had settled that the young couple were to visit their relations in order of seniority; and it was therefore arranged that they should go to Aksinya's house next day. Aksinya herself went home that afternoon, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth, who was to help her in entertaining the guests. The distance was only 50 versts, and the strong Bagrovo horses could go all the way without baiting. The start was fixed for six o'clock next morning.

Stepan Mihailovitch did not in the least conceal his feelings towards his daughter-in-law. He kept her beside him and talked with her repeatedly, asking questions about her family affairs, or making her speak of her life at Ufa; and he listened to her with attentive interest, now and then giving his opinion in some pithy phrase. She eagerly caught up his pertinent remarks; but it was clear that she was moved, not by obsequious concurrence with the old man's ways of thinking, but by a full comprehension of his words and a conviction of their truth. Then in his turn he initiated her into the past and present history of her new relations; and his whole description was so simple and true, so frank and lifelike, that she realised it as few could have done, and was charmed by it. Never in her life had she met his equal. Her own father was intelligent and kind, emotional and unselfish; but at the same time he was weak, falling in with the prevailing tone of his surroundings, and bearing the stamp of the evasive time-serving official who had worked his way up from a clerk's stool to the position of Governor's Deputy. Here she saw before her an old man of little education and uncouth exterior, and report said of him that he was ruthless when angry; and yet he was sensible, kind, and honest, and inflexible in his clear judgment of right and wrong—a man who was upright in all his actions and truthful in every word he spoke. Her quick intellect conceived a noble type of manly worth, which set aside her old ideas and opened up new possibilities. And what happiness that this man was her husband's father! On him depended her peace of mind in her husband's family, and perhaps even the happiness of her marriage!

Dinner was a much more lively and cheerful affair than on the previous day. The bride sat as before between her husband and her father-in-law; but Arina Vassilyevna now took her usual place opposite Stepan Mihailovitch. Immediately after dinner, Aksinya left, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth. As the old man was lying down to rest as usual, he said, "Well, Arisha, I think God has given us a splendid daughter-in-law; it would be a sin not to take her to our hearts." "True indeed, Stepan Mihailovitch," she answered; "if you approve of Sofya Nikolayevna, of course I do." The old man made a wry face but said nothing; and she hurried away, fearing to make a slip of the tongue, and anxious to report to her daughters the remarkable words of Stepan Mihailovitch, which must be accepted as law and obeyed, in appearance at least, to the letter.

Though she had slept little at night, Sofya Nikolayevna could not sleep after dinner. She went out with her husband, and they walked, by his wish, to the old beech-wood, where the jackdaws built, and down the course of the river. There was no repetition of the old disagreements. She had been charmed and captivated by her father-in-law, and she now tried to convey to her husband the feelings of her own eager impressionable mind. As all people of her temperament are apt to do, she transferred to her handsome young husband some part of the merits she had found in his father, and loved him more than ever. He listened with surprise and pleasure to the enthusiasm of his beautiful wife, and said to himself, "Thank God that my father and she have become such friends! There will be no further trouble." He kissed her hands, and said that he was the happiest man on all the earth, and she a peerless goddess before whom all should bow down. He did not quite understand his wife nor appreciate her estimate of his father, so acute and profound; he only felt, as he had always felt, perfectly convinced that Stepan Mihailovitch was the kind of man whom all must respect and even fear. This time Sofya Nikolayevna found no faults: his feelings were her feelings and his language hers: she praised the deep river and the beech-wood with all its uneven stumps; even of her sisters-in-law she spoke kindly.

When he woke up in the afternoon, Stepan Mihailovitch at once summoned all the family. It was a long time since he had been seen in such a bright and gentle mood: whether it was due to a good sleep or to happy feelings, it was clear to every one that the old master was satisfied and cheerful beyond his wont. After their father's pronouncement, Alexandra and Elizabeth were on their guard, while Tanyusha (as she was always called) and her mother were very willing to be more friendly and conversational. At a sign from his wife Karatayeff began with more boldness to echo what was said, even when he was not addressed; but his brother-in-law, the General, persisted in his gloomy silence and frowned significantly. The conversation became unusually brisk and animated. The old man expressed a wish to have his tea early, in the shade near the stoop, of course; and the privilege of pouring it out was conferred on Sofya Nikolayevna exclusively. Tanyusha was quite willing to hand over the office. After tea Stepan Mihailovitch ordered two cars to be brought round, took his daughter-in-law in one, and drove off with all his family to the mill. It should be said that a mill was a special hobby of my grandfather's, and that he understood the working of it thoroughly. The mill itself was not much to look at, and the weed grew round it in an untidy way; but the stones did their work thoroughly well. He liked to show off his mill, and now displayed it in detail to his daughter-in-law, taking pleasure in her utter ignorance and astonishment, which sometimes turned to fear, when he suddenly turned on a strong current of water upon all the four wheels, till the machinery began to move and swing and rattle, the stones to whirl round, creaking and whizzing, and the building, filled with flour-dust, to quiver and shake under foot. All this was an entire novelty to Sofya Nikolayevna, and she did not like it at all, though out of politeness she asked many questions and expressed surprise and admiration at everything. He was much pleased, and kept her there a long time. When the pair went out upon the dam, where AlexyÉi Stepanitch and his sisters were fishing, they were hailed with laughter by the anglers: they were both covered with flour. Stepan Mihailovitch was accustomed to this; besides he had given a shake and a brush to his clothes on leaving the mill; but Sofya Nikolayevna had no suspicion that she was so completely and artistically powdered. When he looked at her, her father-in-law himself laughed heartily; and she laughed more than any one, and was very merry, regretting only that she had no looking-glass to consult, to find out if her ball-dress became her. Seeing the anglers intent upon their sport, Stepan Mihailovitch next drove his companion round the pond and over the bridge; and, after visiting the stream higher up, he came back along the dam to the place where the anglers were engaged, while Arina Vassilyevna, who was very stout, sat on the ground and watched them. The whole course of their drive was over bog and swamp; it was hardly safe to cross the crazy little bridge, and difficult to make way over the dam which was made of manure and sank under the wheels. Though Sofya Nikolayevna found all this distasteful, it was impossible for Stepan Mihailovitch to detect her. He saw neither mire nor swamp, and he was impervious to the unpleasant smell from the stagnant water and the material of the dam. He had planned and constructed it all himself, and he enjoyed it all. It grew damp at sunset, and all set off for home in good spirits. The anglers carried their spoil with them, perch and other kinds. The bailiff was waiting for his master by the stoop; and orders were given about work on the land, while the bride put her dress in order. Meanwhile the fish was boiled or fried in sour cream, while the largest perch were baked in their skins and scales; and all these were pronounced very good at supper.

So the second day passed, and the party broke up early, because the young couple had to make an early start next morning for their visit. When alone with her mother and youngest sister, Alexandra threw off the mask with relief and gave full play to her infernal temper and cruel tongue. She saw perfectly that all was lost and all her forebodings realised: that her father was taken in the toils and infatuated with the adventuress, and there was nothing to be done now except to dismiss the pair to Ufa as soon as possible and devise some scheme in their absence. She abused her mother and sister for being too affectionate: "But for me," she said, "you would have been taken in too by that dressed-up doll, that pauper with a Cossack for her grandfather."

At six exactly next morning the young couple started in their English coach drawn by six of the fine horses bred at Bagrovo. Sofya Nikolayevna was up in time to give his tea to her father-in-law; and he embraced her at starting, and even signed her with the Cross, because she was to be absent for the night. They drove down the river and across it, and then uphill to the little town of Boogoorooslan. Without a halt our travellers crossed the river Great Kinel, and the horses trotted at the rate of ten versts an hour along the rutty road on the flat side of the river, where the grass grew tall and thick and there was no sign of habitation. It was long since AlexyÉi Stepanitch had been across the Kinel; and he was delighted by the greenness and fragrance of the steppe. Bustards constantly rose off the road, and solitary snipe kept up with the carriage, wheeling over it and flying on ahead, or perching on the guide-posts and filling the air with their notes. AlexyÉi Stepanitch was very sorry that he had not taken his gun. In those days the steppe was alive with birds of every kind, and the sound of their myriad voices was so attractive to him, and indeed absorbed his attention so completely, that his ears were generally deaf to the lively and clever conversation of his wife. She soon noticed this and became thoughtful; her high spirits gave place to displeasure, and she began to talk to her maid, Parasha, who was with them in the coach. After crossing a district of high level land, they arrived at their destination exactly at noon. The little wooden house, an even greater contrast than Bagrovo to the houses of Ufa, stood on the flat bank of the Little Kinel, divided from it only by a kitchen-garden containing a few sunflowers and young vegetables and rows of peeled pea-stakes. I still recall with pleasure this unpretending spot, which I first saw ten years after this time; and I understand why my father liked it and my mother was bound to dislike it. It was a bare empty spot, quite flat and fully exposed to the sun, without a bush or a tree; the level steppe with its marmot-burrows lay all round; and the quiet river flowed by, deep in places and overgrown with reeds. It had nothing striking or picturesque to attract any one; yet AlexyÉi Stepanitch preferred it even to Bagrovo. I don't agree with him, but I had a strong liking for that quiet little house on the river-bank, the clear stream, the weed swaying in the current, the wide stretch of grassy steppe, and the ferry which started from close to the door and took you across to a yet wilder steppe, where the prairie-grass stretched straight southwards to what seemed an illimitable distance.

The hostess, with her two little boys and a daughter of two years old, met her guests at the door; her sister Elizabeth and her husband were there also. In spite of the unpromising aspect of the simple rooms, everything was very clean and nice, much more so indeed than at Bagrovo. Though "Miss Simplicity," as her sisters called her, was a widow with small children, there was a neatness and order in the place which showed that it was managed entirely by a female hand. I have said already that Aksinya was a kind woman and had taken a fancy to her sister-in-law; it was therefore very natural that she did honour to her guests and received them with cordiality in her own house. This had been foreseen at Bagrovo, and Elizabeth had been sent on purpose to restrain the excessive friendliness of her sister by means of her superior intelligence and higher position in society, due to her husband's rank. But that simple soul held out against her clever, cunning sister: to all her urgent admonitions her answer was short and plain: "Do as you please at Bagrovo; you may hate and abuse Sofya Nikolayevna, but I like her; she has always been polite and kind to me, and therefore I intend to make her and my brother happy in my house." And she carried out her purpose with sincere affection and satisfaction, showing every attention to her sister-in-law and pressing her good things on both guests. But the proud Elizabeth and even her husband—though he drank so much towards evening that he had to be shut up in an empty bath-house—were much colder and more distant in their behaviour than at Bagrovo. Sofya Nikolayevna took no notice of them, and was charming to her hostess and the children. After dinner the party rested for a little and then went out for a walk by the river; they crossed by a ferry to the far bank and drank tea there. Sofya Nikolayevna was asked to fish, but she declined, saying that she hated fishing and was quite happy sitting with her sisters-in-law. But AlexyÉi Stepanitch, much pleased to see how well his wife got on with his eldest sister, eagerly accepted the proposal and sat till supper-time on the bank, hidden in the thick reeds; he landed several of the large bream which abounded in the quiet waters of the Kinel. The servants used constantly to fish for their own amusement and for that of their young masters. The guests determined to start next morning at six, and were half inclined to depart even earlier, so as not to keep Stepan Mihailovitch waiting for his dinner. Their hostess and her sister were to wait till the evening, spending a night at Boogoorooslan to rest the horses, and reaching Bagrovo the following day.

Sofya Nikolayevna was still a little vexed with her husband. For all her intelligence she could not understand how a man who loved her dearly could also love his damp Bagrovo, with its stump-strewn woods, unsavoury dam, and stagnant pools; how he could gaze with delight at the tiresome steppe with its stupid snipe; and, above all, how he could desert his wife for hours for the sake of a fishing-rod and those bream which smelt so damp and disgusting! So she felt almost offended when AlexyÉi Stepanitch tried to communicate to her his delight in nature and in sport. She was wise enough, however, not to start upon explanations or reproofs this time; the scene on the island was still fresh in her memory.

The young couple passed a peaceful night in Aksinya's own bedroom which she had given up to them; and she had done it up for them to the best of her ability, undeterred by the caustic remarks of her sister. They left the house half an hour earlier than the time originally fixed; and nothing particular happened on their way back, except that AlexyÉi Stepanitch was not quite so much absorbed by the steppe and the snipe, and did not call out quite so loud when bustards rose off the road, so that he could listen with more attention to his wife and look at her more tenderly. They reached Bagrovo before they were expected. But preparations were making for dinner, and Alexandra had had time to say: "Poor papa will have to wait for dinner to-day; but how can you expect town-people to get up so early several days running?" The old man saw through this perfectly. He astonished them all by saying very good-humouredly, "Well, never mind; we can wait for our guests." This caused a sensation, because Stepan Mihailovitch had never in his life sat down to dinner later than twelve o'clock, though sometimes, when he felt hungry, he had it earlier, and the slightest delay or unpunctuality made him exceedingly angry. "You see what Sofya Nikolayevna can do," whispered Alexandra to her mother and youngest sister; "if she keeps him waiting, there is no complaint; but if you had come back from Nyeklyoodovo late for dinner, you would never have heard the end of it, nor should we." The malicious whisper was hardly ended when the carriage dashed up to the steps; while the tired horses snorted, the old man kissed his daughter-in-law and praised her for being in time; then his voice rang through the house, "Mazan, Tanaichonok, dinner at once!"

The day passed off as before. After tea Stepan Mihailovitch, whose affection for his daughter-in-law seemed to grow with every hour, ordered the drove of horses to be driven in from the steppe. He wished to show it to Sofya Nikolayevna, who happened to say that she had never seen such a thing and would like to see it. When the animals were driven into the yard, the old man took his daughter-in-law round himself, pointing out the best brood-mares, the yearlings and two-year-olds and young geldings, all fat and healthy from the steppe where they grazed together all summer. He gave her two fine mares with foals at foot, and hoped she would have good fortune with their stock. Sofya Nikolayevna was much pleased by the foals, and liked to watch them as they started and bounded and then nuzzled against their mothers; and she expressed much gratitude for the gift. Then Stepan Mihailovitch gave strict orders to his head groom, Spirka: "See," he said, "that special care is taken of Sofya Nikolayevna's mares; and we shall put a special mark on the foals by splitting one ear rather lower; and later we must make a brand with the young mistress's name on it." Then he turned to her: "I wish you were a lover of horses, my dear," he went on; "AlexyÉi does not care for them in the least." The old man was very fond of them himself, and, though he was not rich, by endless trouble he had got together a large stud and owned a breed which was the admiration of fanciers and good judges. He was pleased by her interest in his stud; though her only motive was to please him, he believed that she meant what she said, and carried her off to see how the carriage-horses, his own and those of his guests, were fed; of the latter there were often a large number in the stables at Bagrovo.

I am afraid of wearying the reader by such a minute description of the young couple's visit, and shall only say that the next day, which was the fifth, was spent just like the preceding day. According to the order of seniority the next formal visit should have been to the Yerlykins; but, as their estate was 170 versts from Bagrovo and much nearer Ufa, it was settled to take them on the return journey to the town. There was this other reason, that General Yerlykin, Elizabeth's silent, gloomy husband, having broken out at Aksinya's house, had started on one of his regular drinking bouts which generally lasted at least a week, so that his wife had been forced to leave him with some friends at Boogoorooslan, and give out that he was ill. So Alexandra was to receive the next visit, and started off home with her husband on the previous day; with her father's consent, she invited the oldest and youngest of the sisters for the occasion, while Elizabeth remained behind, ostensibly to be near her sick husband, though her real object was to bring her influence to bear on her parents. The Karatayeffs lived about 50 versts from Bagrovo; the distance was the same as to Aksinya's house, but the road ran in the opposite direction, due north, and passed through woods and hills in the second half of the journey. The visitors started after an early lunch. As the road was little used and heavy for the horses, they halted half-way for two hours in the open field, and reached Karatayevka about tea-time. The house was infinitely worse than Aksinya's: the small dark windows caught the eye at once; the floors were uneven, riddled with rat-holes, and so dirty as to defy soap and water. Sofya Nikolayevna felt fear and disgust as she entered this inhospitable and repulsive dwelling. Alexandra was haughty in her reception of them; she was profuse in sarcastic apologies of this kind: "We are glad to see our guests and bid them welcome; my brother, I know, will not be critical, but I doubt if Sofya Nikolayevna will deign to enter our poor house after her father's grand mansion at Ufa. Of course we are poor people, with no official rank; living on our own property, we have no lucrative salaries to maintain us." But Sofya Nikolayevna gave as good as she got: she replied that the way people lived depended as much on their tastes as on their money, and that it was all one to her where her husband's relations lived and how they lived. When supper was over, the young couple were shown to their bedroom, which was the so-called drawing-room. As soon as the candle was out, a great disturbance began in the room; the pattering and noise increased, and swarms of rats soon assailed them with such boldness that the poor bride lay awake all night, shaking with fear and disgust. AlexyÉi Stepanitch was forced to light a candle and arm himself with a window-prop for the defence of the bed, on which the rats kept jumping up as long as it was dark. He felt neither fear nor disgust; it was no novelty to him; at first he was rather amused by the ceaseless activity and bold springs of the repulsive creatures, and then he fell asleep, lying across the bed and still holding the window-prop. But his wife woke him again and again and only fell asleep herself at sunrise, when the enemy sought the concealment of his trenches. She got up with a headache, but her hostess only laughed at the fright the rats had given her, and added that they only attacked strangers, and the people of the house were used to them. Tanyusha was afraid of rats herself; and she and Aksinya could not look unmoved at the signs of suffering on their sister-in-law's face. They expressed sympathy with her, and Aksinya even scolded Alexandra for not taking the ordinary precautions by placing the bed in the centre of the room, attaching curtains to it, and tucking the ends under the mattress; but the hostess said with an angry laugh, "It is a pity they did not bite off her nose." "You had better look out!" said her sister; "if this gets to our father's ears, you will catch it."

Karatayevka was situated on the slope of a hill, above a little spring-fed stream which was dammed up at the end of the village and turned a small mill. The position was not bad, but the owners and all their ways were so objectionable that the place had no attraction for any one. M. Karatayeff, who was afraid of Stepan Mihailovitch at Bagrovo and of his wife at home, would have liked to pay some attentions to Sofya Nikolayevna when his wife was out of the room; but he only found courage to ask leave from time to time to kiss her hand, and generally added that she was the most beautiful creature in the world. When he repeated his request, it was refused. His was a strange existence. Most of his summer was spent in visiting wandering Bashkir tribes, and drinking koumiss every day till he was intoxicated; he spoke the Bashkir language like a native; he rode on horseback whole days without dismounting, and had become as bow-legged as a Bashkir; he had their skill with the bow and could smash an egg at long range with the best of them. All the rest of the year he spent in a kind of lumber-room warmed by a stove, near the house-door; he wore a skin coat, and kept the little window always open even in the hardest frosts; and there he remained all day with his head stuck out of the window, humming Bashkir songs and taking a sip now and then of Bashkir mead or some decoction of herbs. Why Karatayeff looked out of his window over the empty yard with a rough path running across it, what he saw and noted there, what thoughts passed through the brain at the top of that big body—these are problems which no ingenuity can solve. Sometimes, it is true, his philosophic meditations were disturbed: when some plump woman or girl appeared from the servants' quarters and walked mincingly along the path towards the cattle-shed, then a pantomime of nods and signals took place between the window and the yard; but soon the fair vision turned out of sight and vanished like a ghost, and Karatayeff was left staring into empty void.

Sofya Nikolayevna was eager to escape from this horrible place: after an early dinner, during which the horses were already standing at the door, they said "good-bye" at once and started. The hostess kissed her sister-in-law on both cheeks and on the shoulders, and thanked her significantly for her kind visit; and Sofya Nikolayevna, just as significantly, thanked the lady for her kind hospitality.

When alone with her husband in the carriage, Sofya Nikolayevna gave vent to her anger. Aksinya in her simplicity had let out accidentally that the hostess had purposely taken no precautions against the rats; and the bride, though she had refrained from an outburst in her enemy's house, was unable any longer to control her excitable nature. Forgetting that Alexandra was her husband's sister, and that Parasha was in the carriage with them, she was lavish in her terms of abuse. AlexyÉi Stepanitch, a straightforward and kindly man himself, could not believe that there was any intention on the part of his sister: attributing what had happened to mere carelessness, he was hurt by his wife's violent language which was really inexcusable under any provocation. The young husband was angry for the first time with his young wife: saying that she should be ashamed to speak so, he turned from her and was silent. Such was their state of mind when they arrived at Mertovshchina, where Mme. Myortvavo, a remarkably intelligent old lady, was then living with her daughter Katherine who had lately been married to Peter Chichagoff. Sofya Nikolayevna was warmly attached to both the Chichagoffs. She did not in the least expect to find them there, and soon forgot all her displeasure in this agreeable surprise; she became very lively and cheerful, but no one could fail to notice that AlexyÉi Stepanitch remained silent and sad.

Chichagoff's history, and especially his second marriage, is quite a romance; and I shall tell it as briefly as I can, because we shall often come across this family in future, and especially because the life of the young Bagroffs was a good deal influenced by this pair. Peter Chichagoff was a man of exceptional ability or, I should rather say, exceptional acuteness, and had received what was for those days an advanced education in many subjects: he knew several languages, could draw and understood architecture, and wrote both in prose and verse. In his hot youth he fell in love at Moscow with a young lady of the Rimsko-Korsakoff family, and went so far as to misrepresent his position, in order to win her hand. This was discovered after the marriage, and he was banished to Ufa. His wife soon died. Within a year he consoled himself and fell in love with Katherine Myortvavo, who was attracted by his gay and amiable temper, his intelligence and acquirements; his face was so very plain that it could exercise no attraction. She was no longer a girl and had too strong a character to be controlled by her mother and brothers: they let her marry Chichagoff, and he was pardoned soon afterwards but not allowed to leave the Government of Ufa. Sofya Nikolayevna liked him for two reasons: because he was the husband of her dearest friend, and perhaps still more for his own cleverness and wide information. Mme. Myortvavo had just settled to leave Ufa and live in the country, and the Chichagoffs had come on purpose to help her in building a house and a church. After a week's experience of her husband's relations, this meeting was a spring in the desert to Sofya Nikolayevna; it was like a breath of fresh air in which her heart and quick intelligence expanded; she talked on with her friends till near midnight. But AlexyÉi Stepanitch would have sat there in silence and solitude, had not the old lady grasped the situation and entertained him by her pleasant talk. After supper, however, he said "good-night," and went off to the bedroom allotted to the visitors; when Sofya Nikolayevna came she found him fast asleep. They started for Bagrovo early next day without disturbing their hosts.

During their drive AlexyÉi Stepanitch was still sullen and silent. In reply to direct questions from his wife, his answers were so cold and short that she gave up speaking to him. Her lively and impatient temper resented this treatment, but she did not care to clear up matters in Parasha's presence, preferring to wait till the after-dinner rest when she would be alone with her husband. For the present she started a conversation with her maid about their life at Ufa, while AlexyÉi Stepanitch squeezed into a corner of the carriage and either fell asleep or pretended to. They reached Bagrovo two hours before dinner. Stepan Mihailovitch was obviously pleased to see his daughter-in-law again, and even said that he had missed her. "My dear," he added; "you really must not stay here too long, or I shan't be able to let you go; as it is, I shall miss you, likely enough." He made her give him a minute account of their expedition. He praised Mme. Myortvavo whom he knew well, and said that he would send her an invitation next day to come with her daughter and son-in-law and dine at Bagrovo; he fixed on the following Sunday, which was four days ahead, for the entertainment. "You must visit the Kalpinskys and Lupenevskys the day after to-morrow," he said; "and then you can invite them too for Sunday; and then, three days later, you had better be off home to Ufa. Your father has never been parted from you before, and must miss you terribly; and I am sure, my dear, that you are even more anxious to see him, poor suffering old man!"

Stepan Mihailovitch was not long in finding out that something disagreeable had happened on this expedition. In the course of conversation, he said, "Well, were the Karatayeffs glad to see you?" The answer was of course in the affirmative; but Sofya Nikolayevna happened to mention that she had been kept awake all night by rats. This surprised the old man: he had only been there once, long ago, and had heard nothing of the kind. But here Arina Vassilyevna unsuspiciously joined in, in spite of the warning signs of her daughter Elizabeth; she suffered for it afterwards, poor lady, at the hands of her daughters. "O yes, yes, batyushka Stepan Mihailovitch!" she cried; "the rats there are perfectly awful! Without bed-curtains, it's impossible to get a wink of sleep." "Had you no curtains to your bed, then?" asked the old man, and there was an ominous change in his voice as he spoke. "No," was the only possible answer. "An excellent hostess!" he said, and looked at his wife and daughter in such a way that a cold shiver ran down their backs.

The Karatayeff party had not yet returned, but were expected by tea-time. Dinner was not a cheerful meal: all were out of spirits, and each had his or her own reasons. Arina Vassilyevna and Elizabeth were conscious of the approaching storm, and feared that the thunderbolt might smite them also. It was long since Stepan Mihailovitch had been in a rage, and the prospect was more alarming to them because they had become unused to such outbreaks. Sofya Nikolayevna noted the frown on her father-in-law's face; she did not object to his giving a good fright to his daughter, whom she detested as her avowed enemy; but she feared she might somehow get involved herself. She had no unkind intention in speaking about the rats: she never supposed that her father-in-law would take any special notice of this circumstance or attach serious importance to it. Nevertheless, a stone lay on her heart also: she could not determine how to act towards her husband. He had been angry with her for the first time, when she used insulting language about his sister: was it best to wait till he appealed to her voluntarily, or to put an end to the uncomfortable situation by begging him to forgive her? Her love and her tender caresses might then cause him to forget her regrettable impulsiveness. And she certainly would have chosen this course; for she was passionately in love with her kind young husband. She blamed herself severely: she ought to have foreseen everything and been prepared for everything. She knew that AlexyÉi Stepanitch would not hesitate to die for her, but she knew also that she ought not to demand of him what he could not give—a tender and constant observation, and a full comprehension of all the trifling occurrences that might give her pain. And this was hard for her, with her hot blood and sensitive nerves, her eager, excitable brain and impressionable nature. Such were the poor woman's thoughts and feelings as she walked up and down her room waiting for her husband; his mother had stopped him on his way there after dinner and asked him to come to her bedroom. The minutes seemed to her like hours. The thought that he was loitering on purpose, fearing a scene and unwilling to be alone with her; the thought, that without relieving her heart of its many troubles and without a reconciliation with her husband, she would see him again in the presence of her enemies and must play a part the whole evening—this thought oppressed her heart and threw her into a fever. Suddenly the door opened, and AlexyÉi Stepanitch walked in. There was no hesitation in his movements; he was no longer timid and sad, but fearless and even displeased. He began at once to reproach her for complaining to his father and getting Alexandra into trouble. "They are all trembling and crying now, and God only knows what will come of it," he said, primed with all that his mother and sister had been impressing upon him. "It is wrong and a sin on your part to cause trouble and quarrels in your husband's family. I told you what my father is like when he is angry; and you, knowing this and seeing his love for you, took advantage of it!" Sofya Nikolayevna's patience snapped instantly, and she fired up at once; love was silent, and of pity and contrition not a trace was left; and her poor husband discovered that Stepan Mihailovitch was not the only person who could fly into a passion. An irresistible flood of complaints, accusations, and reproaches poured down upon him. He was utterly crushed and confounded; he could make no defence, and was all but a monster in his own eyes. Soon he was kneeling at her feet and begging forgiveness with tears. It was not surprising that AlexyÉi Stepanitch was powerless before that volcanic eruption of feeling and intelligence, that heartfelt conviction and wonderful power of eloquence. A man entirely in the right, a man much more resolute than AlexyÉi Stepanitch, would have pleaded guilty before the youth and beauty of a woman whom he loved. And AlexyÉi Stepanitch was certainly not in the right.

When the storm had calmed down in the bedroom of the young couple, it was still brewing at the other end of the house, in the smallish room which belonged to Stepan Mihailovitch. Sleep had not brought peace to him or smoothed the frown from his high forehead. He sat for some time across his bed in gloomy silence, and then called out, "Mazan!" Mazan had long been lying outside the door, breathing heavily according to his wont, and looking in through a chink; he had been placed there as a sentry, while the family were sitting in the parlour, full of gloomy apprehensions. He called out at the top of his voice, "What is your pleasure, sir?"—and hurried into the room. "Has my daughter Alexandra arrived? Yes? Then bring her here." Alexandra entered on his heels, for on such occasions delay was more dangerous than anything. "How dared you, Madam," began the old man in the voice she knew and dreaded—"how dared you set rats on your brother and his wife?" "I am sorry, father," humbly answered Alexandra, while her knees trembled beneath her, and fear kept down her own infernal temper. "I put my guests on purpose in the drawing-room, and I never thought of putting curtains to their bed. I was so busy and so glad to see them that it slipped my memory." "You were so glad to see them! Do you expect me to believe that? How did you dare to act so to your brother and to me? How did you dare to bring shame on your father in his old age?" The affair would perhaps have gone no further than angry words and loud threats and possibly a rap from his fist; but Alexandra, stung by the thought that she was suffering on account of Sofya Nikolayevna, and hoping that the storm would still blow over, forgot that any sort of answer was a new offence. She could not resist saying, "I am punished for nothing on her account." A fresh and terrible fit of rage seized Stepan Mihailovitch, that rage which invariably ended in painful and shocking violence. Words of fury were on the point of rushing from his lips, when Arina Vassilyevna, with her daughters Aksinya and Tanyusha, ran into the room and fell at the old man's feet, with tears and cries; they had been standing outside the door and had seen what was coming. Karatayeff had been standing there with them; but he ran out of the house and into the wood, where he slashed furiously at the innocent birch-branches with his stick, punishing them for the wrong done to his wife. Elizabeth did not venture to enter the room, knowing that her own conscience was not clear, and that her father was quite aware of the part she had played. "Batyushka Stepan Mihailovitch!" cried Arina Vassilyevna, "your will is law, you are our master, do what pleases you! Only do not shame us and disgrace your family in the sight of your daughter-in-law! You will frighten her out of her life; all this is new to her." The words seemed to have some effect on the old man. He was silent for a moment; then he pushed Alexandra from him with his foot, crying, "Begone, and don't venture to show yourself till I send for you!" No one waited for any further orders: in a moment the room was cleared, and all was silence round Stepan Mihailovitch; but his blue eyes long remained dark and clouded, and his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, as he restrained his passionate anger which had been aroused and not satisfied.

The samovar had long been hissing on the drawing-room table, not in the shade of the stoop, because heavy rain had just ceased falling and it was damp out of doors. Nature seemed to sympathise with what was passing in the house of Bagrovo. Soon after dinner two clouds of intense blackness had met in the zenith and long remained there motionless, emitting from time to time flashes of lightning and shaking the air with peals of thunder. At last the rain came down in torrents, the clouds shifted to the east, and the setting sun shone out. Fields and woods smelt sweeter, refreshed by the rain, and the birds began to sing louder; but alas! the storms of human passion are not followed by such a calm.

Alexandra pretended illness, but the other daughters came with their mother to the drawing-room; Karatayeff also was there, but Yerlykin was still absent from the house, on the pretext of ill-health. Stepan Mihailovitch had tea in his room and gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. The door of the young couple's room was locked; after a short delay, tapping was tried and brought them out at once. Sofya Nikolayevna looked cheerful, and her husband really was more cheerful than before; but it was easy to guess from their faces that something unusual had been happening in their room. Of what had passed in the bedroom of Stepan Mihailovitch, they knew nothing. As for Arina Vassilyevna and her daughters, they looked like people who had just been pulled out of the water or snatched from the fire. It is a pity that there was no one to observe the scene; for it is certain that the different expressions on the faces of the company would have afforded an entertaining spectacle. All attempts to keep up a conversation were unsuccessful. The absence of the father and of one daughter puzzled Sofya Nikolayevna beyond endurance: she invented some pretext for going to her own room, where she summoned Parasha and got to the bottom of the mystery. They knew all about it in the maids' room: not only had Mazan and Tanaichonok been listening all the time, but the old lady and her daughter were in the habit of keeping nothing back from their waiting-women. Thus Parasha was able to give her mistress an exact and detailed report. Sofya Nikolayevna was much disturbed. She had never expected such alarming consequences; she heartily regretted having told her father-in-law about the wretched rats; and she was sincerely sorry for Alexandra. She went back to the drawing-room and asked leave to visit the invalid, but was told she was asleep. During her absence, AlexyÉi Stepanitch had heard the whole story. After a hasty supper they separated to their rooms at ten o'clock. When alone with her husband, Sofya Nikolayevna, with much agitation and many tears, fell on his neck, and again asked his forgiveness with heartfelt penitence, blaming herself much more than she really deserved. But he did not understand the delicacy of feeling which prompted her genuine grief and drew from her tears. He was only sorry to see her distress herself about trifles; and he tried to console her by saying that all was well that ends well, that the family were accustomed to such scenes, that his father would wake in a good temper to-morrow and forgive Alexandra, and all would go on as well as at first. Only he begged her not to have any explanations with any of the family, and not to beg pardon, as she wished to do, for her unintentional slip; and he advised her not to visit his father in the morning but to wait till he sent for her. Sofya Nikolayevna understood her husband's character better than she had ever done before; and the knowledge hurt her deeply. While he slept peacefully all night, she never closed an eye.