y and laughs. He doesn't like me either
. . . . And there is nothing he wants! When our father died he left
us each six thousand roubles. I bought myself an inn, married, and
now I have children; and he burnt all his money in the stove. Such
a pity, such a pity! Why burn it? If he didn't want it he could
give it to me, but why burn it?"

Suddenly the swing-door creaked and the floor shook under footsteps.
Yegorushka felt a draught of cold air, and it seemed to him as
though some big black bird had passed by him and had fluttered its
wings close in his face. He opened his eyes. . . . His uncle was
standing by the sofa with his sack in his hands ready for departure;
Father Christopher, holding his broad-brimmed top-hat, was bowing
to someone and smiling--not his usual soft kindly smile, but a
respectful forced smile which did not suit his face at all--while
Moisey Moisevitch looked as though his body had been broken into
three parts, and he were balancing and doing his utmost not to drop
to pieces. Only Solomon stood in the corner with his arms folded,
as though nothing had happened, and smiled contemptuously as before.

"Your Excellency must excuse us for not being tidy," moaned Moisey
Moisevitch with the agonizingly sweet smile, taking no more notice
of Kuzmitchov or Father Christopher, but swaying his whole person
so as to avoid dropping to pieces. "We are plain folks, your
Excellency."

Yegorushka rubbed his eyes. In the middle of the room there really
was standing an Excellency, in the form of a young plump and very
beautiful woman in a black dress and a straw hat. Before Yegorushka
had time to examine her features the image of the solitary graceful
poplar he had seen that day on the hill for some reason came into
his mind.

"Has Varlamov been here to-day?" a woman's voice inquired.

"No, your Excellency," said Moisey Moisevitch.

"If you see him to-morrow, ask him to come and see me for a minute."

All at once, quite unexpectedly, Yegorushka saw half an inch from
his eyes velvety black eyebrows, big brown eyes, delicate feminine
cheeks with dimples, from which smiles seemed radiating all over
the face like sunbeams. There was a glorious scent.

"What a pretty boy!" said the lady. "Whose boy is it? Kazimir
Mihalovitch, look what a charming fellow! Good heavens, he is
asleep!"

And the lady kissed Yegorushka warmly on both cheeks, and he smiled
and, thinking he was asleep, shut his eyes. The swing-door squ