paid the peasant women in copper); but Arina Vlasyevna’s eyes, bent steadfastly on Bazarov, did not express only devotion and tenderness; in them was to be seen sorrow also, mingled with awe and curiosity; there was to be seen too a sort of humble reproachfulness.

Bazarov, however, was not in a humour to analyse the exact expression of his mother’s eyes; he seldom turned to her, and then only with some short question. Once he asked her for her hand ‘for luck’; she gently laid her soft, little hand on his rough, broad palm.

‘Well,’ she asked, after waiting a little, ‘has it been any use?’

‘Worse luck than ever,’ he answered, with a careless laugh.

‘He plays too rashly,’ pronounced Father Alexey, as it were compassionately, and he stroked his beard.

‘Napoleon’s rule, good Father, Napoleon’s rule,’ put in Vassily Ivanovitch, leading an ace.

‘It brought him to St. Helena, though,’ observed Father Alexey, as he trumped the ace.

‘Wouldn’t you like some currant tea, Enyusha?’ inquired Arina Vlasyevna.

Bazarov merely shrugged his shoulders.

‘No!’ he said to Arkady the next day. I’m off from here to-morrow. I’m bored; I want to work, but I can’t work here. I will come to your place again; I’ve left all my apparatus there too. In your house one can at any rate shut oneself up. While here my father repeats to me, «My study is at your disposal—nobody shall interfere with you,» and all the time he himself is never a yard away. And I’m ashamed somehow to shut myself away from him. It’s the same thing too with mother. I hear her sighing the other side of the wall, and if one goes in to her, one’s nothing to say to her.’

‘She will be very much grieved,’ observed Arkady, ‘and so will he.’

‘I shall come back again to them.’

‘When?’

‘Why, when on my way to Petersburg.’

‘I feel sorry for your mother particularly.’

‘Why’s that? Has she won your heart with strawberries, or what?’

Arkady dropped his eyes. ‘You don’t understand your mother, Yevgeny. She’s not only a very good woman, she’s very clever really. This morning she talked to me for half-an-hour, and so sensibly, interestingly.’

‘I suppose she was expatiating upon me all the while?’

‘We didn’t talk only about you.’

‘Perhaps; lookers-on see most. If a woman can keep up half-an-hour’s conversation, it’s always a hopeful sign. But I’m going, all the same.’

‘It won’t be very easy for you to break it to them. They are always making plans for what we are to do in a fortnight’s time.’

‘No; it won’t be easy. Some demon drove me to tease my father to-day; he had one of his rent-paying peasants flogged the other day, and quite right too—yes, yes, you needn’t look at me in such horror—he did quite right, because he’s an awful thief and drunkard; only my father had no idea that I, as they say, was cognisant of the facts. He was greatly perturbed, and now I shall have to upset him more than ever…. Never mind! Never say die! He’ll get over it!’

Bazarov said, ‘Never mind’; but the whole day passed before he could make up his mind to inform Vassily Ivanovitch of his intentions. At last, when he was just saying good-night to him in the study, he observed, with a feigned yawn—

‘Oh … I was almost forgetting to tell you…. Send to Fedot’s for our horses to-morrow.’

Vassily Ivanovitch was dumbfounded. ‘Is Mr. Kirsanov leaving us, then?’

‘Yes; and I’m going with him.’

Vassily Ivanovitch positively reeled. ‘You are going?’

‘Yes … I must. Make the arrangements about the horses, please.’

‘Very good….’ faltered the old man; ‘to Fedot’s … very good … only … only…. How is it?’

‘I must go to stay with him for a little time. I will come back again later.’

‘Ah! For a little time … very good.’ Vassily Ivanovitch drew out his handkerchief, and, blowing his nose, doubled up almost to the ground. ‘Well … everything shall be done. I had thought you were to be with us … a little longer. Three days…. After three years, it’s rather little; rather little, Yevgeny!’

‘But, I tell you, I’m coming back directly. It’s necessary for me to go.’

‘Necessary…. Well! Duty before everything. So the horses shall be in readiness. Very good. Arina and I, of course, did not anticipate this. She has just begged some flowers from a neighbour; she meant to decorate the room for you.’ (Vassily Ivanovitch did not even mention that every morning almost at dawn he took counsel with Timofeitch, standing with his bare feet in his slippers, and pulling out with trembling fingers one dog’s-eared rouble note after another, charged him with various purchases, with special reference to good things to eat, and to red wine, which, as far as he could observe, the young men liked extremely.) ‘Liberty … is the great thing; that’s my rule…. I don’t want to hamper you … not …’

He suddenly ceased, and made for the door.

‘We shall soon see each other again, father, really.’

But Vassily Ivanovitch, without turning round, merely waved his hand and was gone. When he got back to his bedroom he found his wife in bed, and began to say his prayers in a whisper, so as not to wake her up. She woke, however. ‘Is that you, Vassily Ivanovitch?’ she asked.

‘Yes, mother.’

‘Have you come from Enyusha? Do you know, I’m afraid of his not being comfortable on that sofa. I told Anfisushka to put him on your travelling mattress and the new pillows; I should have given him our feather-bed, but I seem to remember he doesn’t like too soft a bed….’

‘Never mind, mother; don’t worry yourself. He’s all right. Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner,’ he went on with his prayer in a low voice. Vassily Ivanovitch was sorry for his old wife; he did not mean to tell her over night what a sorrow there was in store for her.

Bazarov and Arkady set off the next day. From early morning all was dejection in the house; Anfisushka let the tray slip out of her hands; even Fedka was bewildered, and was reduced to taking off his boots. Vassily Ivanitch was more fussy than ever; he was obviously trying to put a good face on it, talked loudly, and stamped with his feet, but his face looked haggard, and his eyes were continually avoiding his son. Arina Vlasyevna was crying quietly; she was utterly crushed, and could not have controlled herself at all if her husband had not spent two whole hours early in the morning exhorting her. When Bazarov, after repeated promises to come back certainly not later than in a month’s time, tore himself at last from the embraces detaining him, and took his seat in the coach; when the horses had started, the bell was ringing, and the wheels were turning round, and when it was no longer any good to look after them, and the dust had settled, and Timofeitch, all bent and tottering as he walked, had crept back to his little room; when the old people were left alone in their little house, which seemed suddenly to have grown shrunken and decrepit too, Vassily Ivanovitch, after a few more moments of hearty waving of his handkerchief on the steps, sank into a chair, and his head dropped on to his breast. ‘He has cast us off; he has forsaken us,’ he faltered; ‘forsaken us; he was dull with us. Alone, alone!’ he repeated several times. Then Arina Vlasyevna went up to him, and, leaning her grey head against his grey head, said, ‘There’s no help for it, Vasya! A son is a separate piece cut off. He’s like the falcon that flies home and flies away at his pleasure; while you and I are like funguses in the hollow of a tree, we sit side by side, and don’t move from our place. Only I am left you unchanged for ever, as you for me.’

Vassily Ivanovitch took his hands from his face and clasped his wife, his friend, as warmly as he had never clasped in youth; she comforted him in his grief.

CHAPTER XXII

In silence, only rarely exchanging a few insignificant words, our friends travelled as far as Fedot’s. Bazarov was not altogether pleased with himself. Arkady was displeased with him. He was feeling, too, that causeless melancholy which is only known to very young people. The coachman changed the horses, and getting up on to the box, inquired, ‘To the right or to the left?’

Arkady started. The road to the right led to the town, and from there home; the road to the left led to Madame Odintsov’s.

He looked at Bazarov.

‘Yevgeny,’ he queried; ‘to the left?’

Bazarov turned away. ‘What folly is this?’ he muttered.

‘I know it’s folly,’ answered Arkady…. ‘But what does that matter? It’s not the first time.’

Bazarov pulled his cap down over his brows. ‘As you choose,’ he said at last. ‘Turn to the left,’ shouted Arkady.

The coach rolled away in the direction of Nikolskoe. But having resolved on the folly, the friends were even more obstinately silent than before, and seemed positively ill-humoured.

Directly the steward met them on the steps of Madame Odintsov’s house, the friends could perceive that they had acted injudiciously in giving way so suddenly to a passing impulse. They were obviously not expected. They sat rather a long while, looking rather foolish, in the drawing-room. Madame Odintsov came in to them at last. She greeted them with her customary politeness, but was surprised at their hasty return; and, so far as could be judged from the deliberation of her gestures and words, she was not over pleased at