are always
attacking us poor... Do you know it's a misfortune of a sort, really? I
am sorry for you.'

'A misfortune! Why do you say that? To begin with, in my opinion, there
are only three misfortunes: to live in winter in cold lodgings, in
summer to wear tight shoes, and to spend the night in a room where a
baby cries whom you can't get rid of with Persian powder; and secondly,
I am now the most peaceable of men. Why, I'm a model! You know how
properly I behave!'

'Fine behaviour, indeed! Only yesterday Elena Antonovna complained to me
of you.'

'Well! And what did she tell you, if I may know?'

'She told me that far one whole morning you would make no reply to all
her questions but "what? what?" and always in the same squeaking voice.'

Pigasov laughed.

'But that was a happy idea, you'll allow, Alexandra Pavlovna, eh?'

'Admirable, indeed! Can you really have behaved so rudely to a lady,
African Semenitch?'

'What! Do you regard Elena Antonovna as a lady?'

'What do you regard her as?'

'A drum, upon my word, an ordinary drum such as they beat with sticks.'

'Oh,' interrupted Alexandra Pavlovna, anxious to change the
conversation, 'they tell me one may congratulate you.'

'Upon what?'

'The end of your lawsuit. The Glinovsky meadows are yours.'

'Yes, they are mine,' replied Pigasov gloomily.

'You have been trying to gain this so many years, and now you seem
discontented.'

'I assure you, Alexandra Pavlovna,' said Pigasov slowly, 'nothing can
be worse and more injurious than good-fortune that comes too late.
It cannot give you pleasure in any way, and it deprives you of the
right--the precious right--of complaining and cursing Providence. Yes,
madam, it's a cruel and insulting trick--belated fortune.'

Alexandra Pavlovna only shrugged her shoulders.

'Nurse,' she began, 'I think it's time to put Misha to bed. Give him to
me.'

While Alexandra Pavlovna busied herself with her son, Pigasov walked off
muttering to the other corner of the balcony.

Suddenly, not far off on the road that ran the length of the garden,
Mihailo Mihailitch made his appearance driving his racing droshky. Two
huge house-dogs ran before the horse, one yellow, the other grey, both
only lately obtained. They incessantly quarrelled, and were inseparable
companions. An old pug-dog came out of the gate to meet them. He opened
his mouth as if he were going to bark, but ended by yawning and turning
back again with a friend