ver spoke to her, although in his caresses
a certain involuntary disdain toward her was perceptible. Malanya
Sergyeevna had most of all to endure from her sister-in-law. Glafira,
already during her mother's lifetime, had succeeded in getting gradually
the entire house into her hands: every one, beginning with her father,
was subject to her; not a lump of sugar was given out without her
permission; she would have consented to die, rather than to share the
power with any other mistress of the house! Her brother's marriage had
angered her even more than it had Piotr Andreitch: she took it upon
herself to teach the upstart a lesson, and from the very first hour
Malanya Sergyeevna became her slave.

And how could she contend with the self-willed, arrogant Glafira, she
who was mild, constantly agitated, and terrified, and also weak in
health? Not a day passed, that Glafira did not remind her of her former
position, did not praise her for not forgetting her place. Malanya
Sergyeevna would gladly have reconciled herself to these reminders and
praises, however bitter they might be ... but they took Fedya away from
her: that was what broke her heart. Under the pretext that she was not
competent to take charge of his education, she was hardly permitted to
see him; Glafira took this matter upon herself; the child passed under
her full control. Malanya Sergyeevna began, out of grief, to entreat
Ivan Petrovitch, in her letters, to come home as speedily as possible;
Piotr Andreitch himself wished to see his son; but he merely wrote in
reply, thanking his father about his wife, and for the money sent, and
promising to come soon,--and did not come. The year '12 recalled him, at
last, to his fatherland from abroad.

On meeting again, for the first time, after their six years' separation,
the father and son exchanged embraces, and did not allude, by so much as
a word, to their former dissensions; they were not in the mood for it
then: all Russia had risen against the enemy, and both of them felt that
Russian blood was flowing in their veins. Piotr Andreitch, at his own
expense, clothed an entire regiment of soldiers. But the war came to an
end, the danger passed; again Ivan Petrovitch began to feel bored,
again he longed for far-away places, for the world to which he had grown
fast, and where he felt himself at home. Malanya Sergyeevna could not
hold him back; she counted for too little with him. Even her hopes had
not been realised: her