«Seek.» If she refused, you might go with a dozen dogs, and you’d find nothing. But when she was after anything, it was a sight to see her. And in the house so well-bred. If you gave her bread with your left hand and said, «A Jew’s tasted it,» she wouldn’t touch it; but give it with your right and say, «The young lady’s had some,» and she’d take it and eat it at once. I had a pup of hers—capital pup he was, and I meant to bring him with me to Moscow, but a friend asked me for him, together with a gun; he said, «In Moscow you’ll have other things to think of.» I gave him the pup and the gun; and so, you know, it stayed there.’

‘But you might go shooting in Moscow.’

‘No, what would be the use? I didn’t know when to pull myself up, so now I must grin and bear it.

But there, kindly tell me rather about the living in Moscow—is it dear?’

‘No, not very.’

‘Not very…. And tell me, please, are there any gypsies in Moscow?’

‘What sort of gypsies?’

‘Why, such as hang about fairs?’

‘Yes, there are in Moscow….’

‘Well, that’s good news. I like gypsies, damn my soul! I like ’em….’

And there was a gleam of reckless merriment in Piotr Petrovitch’s eyes. But suddenly he turned round on the bench, then seemed to ponder, dropped his eyes, and held out his empty glass to me.

‘Give me some of your rum,’ he said.’

‘But the tea’s all finished.’

‘Never mind, as it is, without tea… Ah—h!’ Karataev laid his head in his hands and leaned his elbows on the table. I looked at him without speaking, and although I was expecting the sentimental exclamations, possibly even the tears of which the inebriate are so lavish, yet when he raised his head, I was, I must own, impressed by the profoundly mournful expression of his face.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing…. I was thinking of old times. An anecdote that… I would tell it you, but I am ashamed to trouble you….’

‘What nonsense!’

‘Yes,’ he went on with a sigh:—‘there are cases… like mine, for instance. Well, if you like, I will tell you. Though really I don’t know….’

‘Do tell me, dear Piotr Petrovitch.’

‘Very well, though it’s a… Well, do you see,’ he began; ‘but, upon my word, I don’t know.’

‘Come, that’s enough, dear Piotr Petrovitch.’

‘All right. This, then, was what befel me, so to say. I used to live in the country… All of a sudden, I took a fancy to a girl. Ah, what a girl she was!… handsome, clever, and so good and sweet! Her name was Matrona. But she wasn’t a lady—that is, you understand, she was a serf, simply a serf-girl. And not my girl; she belonged to someone else—that was the trouble. Well, so I loved her—it’s really an incident that one can hardly… well, and she loved me, too. And so Matrona began begging me to buy her off from her mistress; and, indeed, the thought had crossed my mind too…. But her mistress was a rich, dreadful old body; she lived about twelve miles from me. Well, so one fine day, as the saying is, I ordered my team of three horses to be harnessed abreast to the droshky—in the centre I’d a first-rate goer, an extraordinary Asiatic horse, for that reason called Lampurdos—I dressed myself in my best, and went off to Matrona’s mistress. I arrived; it was a big house with wings and a garden…. Matrona was waiting for me at the bend of the road; she tried to say a word to me, but she could only kiss her hand and turn away. Well, so I went into the hall and asked if the mistress were at home?… And a tall footman says to me: «What name shall I say?» I answered, «Say, brother, Squire Karataev has called on a matter of business.» The footman walked away; I waited by myself and thought, «I wonder how it’ll be? I daresay the old beast’ll screw out a fearful price, for all she’s so rich. Five hundred roubles she’ll ask, I shouldn’t be surprised.» Well, at last the footman returned, saying, «If you please, walk up.» I followed him into the drawing-room. A little yellowish old woman sat in an armchair blinking. «What do you want?» To begin with, you know, I thought it necessary to say how glad I was to make her acquaintance…. «You are making a mistake; I am not the mistress here; I’m a relation of hers…. What do you want?» I remarked upon that, «I had to speak to the mistress herself.» «Marya Ilyinishna is not receiving to-day; she is unwell…. What do you want?» There’s nothing for it, I thought to myself; so I explained my position to her. The old lady heard me out. «Matrona! what Matrona?»

‘»Matrona Fedorovna, Kulik’s daughter.»

‘»Fedor Kulik’s daughter…. But how did you come to know her?» «By chance.» «And is she aware of your intention?» «Yes.» The old lady was silent for a minute. Then, «Ah, I’ll let her know it, the worthless hussy!» she said. I was astounded, I must confess. «What ever for? upon my word!… I’m ready to pay a good sum, if you will be so good as to name it.»‘

‘The old hag positively hissed at me. «A surprising idea you’ve concocted there; as though we needed your money!… I’ll teach her, I’ll show her!… I’ll beat the folly out of her!» The old lady choked with spitefulness. «Wasn’t she well off with us, pray?… Ah, she’s a little devil! God forgive my transgressions!» I fired up, I’ll confess. «What are you threatening the poor girl for? How is she to blame?» The old lady crossed herself. «Ah, Lord have mercy on me, do you suppose I’d…» «But she’s not yours, you know!» «Well, Marya Ilyinishna knows best about that; it’s not your business, my good sir; but I’ll show that chit of a Matrona whose serf she is.» I’ll confess, I almost fell on the damned old woman, but I thought of Matrona, and my hands dropped. I was more frightened than I can tell you; I began entreating the old lady. «Take what you like,» I said. «But what use is she to you?» «I like her, good ma’am; put yourself in my position…. Allow me to kiss your little hand.» And I positively kissed the wretch’s hand! «Well,» mumbled the old witch, «I’ll tell Marya Ilyinishna—it’s for her to decide; you come back in a couple of days.» I went home in great uneasiness. I began to suspect that I’d managed the thing badly; that I’d been wrong in letting her notice my state of mind, but I thought of that too late. Two days after, I went to see the mistress. I was shown into a boudoir. There were heaps of flowers and splendid furniture; the lady herself was sitting in a wonderful easy-chair, with her head lolling back on a cushion; and the same relation was sitting there too, and some young lady, with white eyebrows and a mouth all awry, in a green gown—a companion, most likely. The old lady said through her nose, «Please be seated.» I sat down. She began questioning me as to how old I was, and where I’d been in the service, and what I meant to do, and all that very condescendingly and solemnly. I answered minutely. The old lady took a handkerchief off the table, flourished it, fanning herself…. «Katerina Karpovna informed me,» says she, «of your scheme; she informed me of it; but I make it my rule,» says she, «not to allow my people to leave my service. It is improper, and quite unsuitable in a well-ordered house; it is not good order. I have already given my orders,» says she. «There will be no need for you to trouble yourself further,» says she. «Oh, no trouble, really…. But can it be, Matrona Fedorovna is so necessary to you?» «No,» says she, «she is not necessary.» «Then why won’t you part with her to me?» «Because I don’t choose to; I don’t choose—and that’s all about it. I’ve already,» says she, «given my orders: she is being sent to a village in the steppes.» I was thunderstruck. The old lady said a couple of words in French to the young lady in green; she went out. «I am,» says she, «a woman of strict principles, and my health is delicate; I can’t stand being worried. You are still young, and I’m an old woman, and entitled to give you advice. Wouldn’t it be better for you to settle down, get married; to look out a good match; wealthy brides are few, but a poor girl, of the highest moral character, could be found.» I stared, do you know, at the old lady, and didn’t understand what she was driving at; I could hear she was talking about marriage, but the village in the steppes was ringing in my ears all the while. Get married!… what the devil!…’

Here he suddenly stopped in his story and looked at me.

‘You’re not married, I suppose?’

‘No.’

‘There, of course, I could see it. I couldn’t stand it. «But, upon my word, ma’am, what on earth are you talking about? How does marriage come in? I simply want to know from you whether you will part with your serf-girl Matrona or not?» The old lady began sighing and groaning. «Ah, he’s worrying me! ah, send him away! ah!» The relation flew to her, and began scolding me, while the