buttoned up. He was
smoking a long pipe and screwing up his eyes to keep the sun out of
them. The horses stopped.

"Arrived at last," said Bazaroff's father, still going on smoking,
though the pipe was fairly dancing up and down between his fingers.

"Enyusha, Enyusha," was heard a trembling woman's voice. The door was
flung open and in the doorway was seen a plump, short little woman, in a
white cap and a short, striped jacket. She moaned, staggered, and would
certainly have fallen had not Bazaroff supported her. Her plump little
hands were instantly twined round his neck. "For what ages, my dear one,
my darling Enyusha!" she cried, her wrinkled face wet with tears. Old
Bazaroff breathed hard and screwed his eyes up more than ever.

"There, that's enough, that's enough, Arina; give over--please give
over."

His lips and eyebrows were twitching and his beard was quivering... but
he was obviously trying to control himself and appear almost
indifferent. But, like his wife, the old man was deeply moved at the
coming of his son. Only with difficulty could he keep his eyes off him.
The whole little house was turned upside down to provide him proper
entertainment. Arisha produced the most tempting dainties she could cook
and old Bazaroff brought out a bottle of wine, told some of the best of
his old stories, and, regardless of the snubs uttered occasionally by
Bazaroff, seemed to be filled with an ecstatic joy as long as he could
be near him. He took an early opportunity of questioning Arkady, and
when he heard the words of praise that fell from the latter's lips and
the expectation that was current at the University of the great future
for his son, he could stand it no longer. He bent down to Arkady and
kissed him on his shoulder.

"You have made me perfectly happy," he said, never ceasing to smile. "I
ought to tell you, I... idolise my son; my old wife I won't speak of--we
all know what mothers are!--but I dare not show my feelings before him,
because he doesn't like it. He is averse to every kind of demonstration
of feeling; many people even find fault with him for such firmness of
character, and regard it as a proof of pride or lack of feeling, but men
like him ought not to be judged by the common standard, ought they?"

One thing troubled old Bazaroff. How long was his son going to stay? He
dared not ask him, but he centred his hopes on three weeks, at least.
Bazaroff, however, was restless and unsatisfied. He had