his serfs, he would be vexed and reply: "Not in the least;
it never entered my head and I wouldn't do that for their good! That's
all poetry and old wives' talk--all that doing good to one's neighbor!
What I want is that our children should not have to go begging. I must
put our affairs in order while I am alive, that's all. And to do that,
order and strictness are essential.... That's all about it!" said he,
clenching his vigorous fist. "And fairness, of course," he added, "for
if the peasant is naked and hungry and has only one miserable horse, he
can do no good either for himself or for me."

And all Nicholas did was fruitful--probably just because he refused to
allow himself to think that he was doing good to others for virtue's
sake. His means increased rapidly; serfs from neighboring estates came
to beg him to buy them, and long after his death the memory of his
administration was devoutly preserved among the serfs. "He was a
master... the peasants' affairs first and then his own. Of course he was
not to be trifled with either--in a word, he was a real master!"

CHAPTER VIII

One matter connected with his management sometimes worried Nicholas, and
that was his quick temper together with his old hussar habit of making
free use of his fists. At first he saw nothing reprehensible in
this, but in the second year of his marriage his view of that form of
punishment suddenly changed.

Once in summer he had sent for the village elder from Bogucharovo, a
man who had succeeded to the post when Dron died and who was accused of
dishonesty and various irregularities. Nicholas went out into the porch
to question him, and immediately after the elder had given a few replies
the sound of cries and blows were heard. On returning to lunch Nicholas
went up to his wife, who sat with her head bent low over her embroidery
frame, and as usual began to tell her what he had been doing that
morning. Among other things he spoke of the Bogucharovo elder. Countess
Mary turned red and then pale, but continued to sit with head bowed and
lips compressed and gave her husband no reply.

"Such an insolent scoundrel!" he cried, growing hot again at the mere
recollection of him. "If he had told me he was drunk and did not see...
But what is the matter with you, Mary?" he suddenly asked.

Countess Mary raised her head and tried to speak, but hastily looked
down again and her lips puckered.

"Why, whatever is the matter, my dearest?"