Vassilyevskoe.

The coachman drove to the gates and drew up; Lavretsky's groom stood
up on the box and as though in preparation for jumping down, shouted,
"Hey!" There was a sleepy, muffled sound of barking, but not even a dog
made its appearance; the groom again made ready for a jump, and again
shouted "Hey!" The feeble barking was repeated, and an instant after
a man from some unseen quarter ran into the courtyard, dressed in a
nankeen coat, his head as white as snow; he stared at the coach, shading
his eyes from the sun; all at once he slapped his thighs with both
hands, ran to and fro a little, then rushed to open the gates. The coach
drove into the yard, crushing the nettles with the wheels, and drew up
at the steps. The white-headed man, who seemed very alert, was already
standing on the bottom step, his legs bent and wide apart, he unfastened
the apron of the carriage, holding back the strap with a jerk and aiding
his master to alight; he kissed his hand.

"How do you do, how do you do, brother?" began Lavretsky. "Your name's
Anton, I think? You are still alive, then?" The old man bowed without
speaking, and ran off for the keys. While he went, the coachman sat
motionless, sitting sideways and staring at the closed door, but
Lavretsky's groom stood as he had leaped down in a picturesque pose with
one arm thrown back on the box. The old man brought the keys, and, quite
needlessly, twisting about like a snake, with his elbows raised high, he
opened the door, stood on one side, and again bowed to the earth.

"So here I am at home, here I am back again," thought Lavretsky, as he
walked into the diminutive passage, while one after another the shutters
were being opened with much creaking and knocking, and the light of day
poured into the deserted rooms.

Chapter XIX

The small manor-house to which Lavretsky had come and in which two years
before Glafira Petrovna had breathed her last, had been built in the
preceding century of solid pine-wood; it looked ancient, but it was
still strong enough to stand another fifty years or more. Lavretsky made
the tour of all the rooms, and to the great discomfiture of the aged
languid flies, settled under the lintels and covered with white dust,
he ordered the windows to be opened everywhere; they had not been opened
ever since the death of Glafira Petrovna. Everything in the house had
remained as it was; the thin-legged white miniature couches in the
drawing-room, covere