. . . Let us take off your things!"

When the child had been undressed and pacified a silence reigned
again. The young lady seated herself at the window, and looked round
wonderingly at the room of the inn, at the ikon, at the stove. . . .
Apparently the room and the little girl with the thick nose, in
her short boy's nightgown, and the child's father, all seemed strange
to her. This strange man was sitting in a corner; he kept looking
about him helplessly, as though he were drunk, and rubbing his face
with the palm of his hand. He sat silent, blinking, and judging
from his guilty-looking figure it was difficult to imagine that he
would soon begin to speak. Yet he was the first to begin. Stroking
his knees, he gave a cough, laughed, and said:

"It's a comedy, it really is. . . . I look and I cannot believe my
eyes: for what devilry has destiny driven us to this accursed inn?
What did she want to show by it? Life sometimes performs such _'salto
mortale,'_ one can only stare and blink in amazement. Have you come
from far, Madam?"

"No, not from far," answered the young lady. "I am going from our
estate, fifteen miles from here, to our farm, to my father and
brother. My name is Ilovaisky, and the farm is called Ilovaiskoe.
It's nine miles away. What unpleasant weather!"

"It couldn't be worse."

The lame boy came in and stuck a new candle in the pomatum pot.

"You might bring us the samovar, boy," said the man, addressing
him.

"Who drinks tea now?" laughed the boy. "It is a sin to drink tea
before mass. . . ."

"Never mind boy, you won't burn in hell if we do. . . ."

Over the tea the new acquaintances got into conversation.

Mlle. Ilovaisky learned that her companion was called Grigory
Petrovitch Liharev, that he was the brother of the Liharev who was
Marshal of Nobility in one of the neighbouring districts, and he
himself had once been a landowner, but had "run through everything
in his time." Liharev learned that her name was Marya Mihailovna,
that her father had a huge estate, but that she was the only one
to look after it as her father and brother looked at life through
their fingers, were irresponsible, and were too fond of harriers.

"My father and brother are all alone at the farm," she told him,
brandishing her fingers (she had the habit of moving her fingers
before her pointed face as she talked, and after every sentence
moistened her lips with her sharp little tongue). "They, I mean
men, are an i