otley-hued
scarf). "He might keep thee company in sighing,--or, if not, he might
tell us some lie or other."

"How harshly thou always speakest about him! Sergyei Petrovitch is
an--estimable man."

"Estimable!" repeated the old woman reproachfully.

"And how devoted he was to my dead husband!" remarked Marya
Dmitrievna;--"to this day, I cannot think of it with indifference."

"I should think not! he pulled him out of the mire by his ears,"--growled
Marfa Timofeevna, and her knitting-needles moved still more swiftly in
her hands.

"He looks like such a meek creature,"--she began again,--"his head is all
grey, but no sooner does he open his mouth, than he lies or calumniates.
And he's a State Councillor, to boot! Well, he's a priest's son: and
there's nothing more to be said!"

"Who is without sin, aunty? Of course, he has that weakness. Sergyei
Petrovitch received no education,--of course he does not speak French;
but, say what you will, he is an agreeable man."

"Yes, he's always licking thy hand. He doesn't talk French,--what a
calamity! I'm not strong on the French 'dialect' myself. 'T would be
better if he did not speak any language at all: then he wouldn't lie. But
there he is, by the way--speak of the devil,--" added Marfa Timofeevna,
glancing into the street.--"There he strides, thine agreeable man. What a
long-legged fellow, just like a stork."

Marya Dmitrievna adjusted her curls. Marfa Timofeevna watched her
with a grin.

"Hast thou not a grey hair there, my mother? Thou shouldst scold thy
Palashka. Why doesn't she see it?"

"Oh, aunty, you're always so...." muttered Marya Dmitrievna, with
vexation, and drummed on the arm of her chair with her fingers.

"Sergyei Petrovitch Gedeonovsky!" squeaked a red-cheeked page-lad,
springing in through the door.

II

There entered a man of lofty stature, in a neat coat, short trousers,
grey chamois-skin gloves, and two neckties--one black, on top, and the
other white, underneath. Everything about him exhaled decorum and
propriety, beginning with his good-looking face and smoothly brushed
temple-curls, and ending with his boots, which had neither heels nor
squeak. He bowed first to the mistress of the house, then to Marfa
Timofeevna, and slowly drawing off his gloves, took Marya Dmitrievna's
hand. After kissing it twice in succession, with respect, he seated
himself, without haste, in an arm-chair, and said with a s