able guests,' and at once tossed off
his glass in military fashion; while he made Arina Vlasyevna drink her
wineglass to the last drop. When the time came in due course for
preserves, Arkady, who could not bear anything sweet, thought it his
duty, however, to taste four different kinds which had been freshly
made, all the more as Bazarov flatly refused them and began at once
smoking a cigarette. Then tea came on the scene with cream, butter, and
cracknels; then Vassily Ivanovitch took them all into the garden to
admire the beauty of the evening. As they passed a garden seat he
whispered to Arkady--

'At this spot I love to meditate, as I watch the sunset; it suits a
recluse like me. And there, a little farther off, I have planted some
of the trees beloved of Horace.'

'What trees?' asked Bazarov, overhearing.

'Oh ... acacias.'

Bazarov began to yawn.

'I imagine it's time our travellers were in the arms of Morpheus,'
observed Vassily Ivanovitch.

'That is, it's time for bed,' Bazarov put in. 'That's a correct idea.
It is time, certainly.'

As he said good-night to his mother, he kissed her on the forehead,
while she embraced him, and stealthily behind his back she gave him her
blessing three times. Vassily Ivanovitch conducted Arkady to his room,
and wished him 'as refreshing repose as I enjoyed at your happy years.'
And Arkady did as a fact sleep excellently in his bath-house; there was
a smell of mint in it, and two crickets behind the stove rivalled each
other in their drowsy chirping. Vassily Ivanovitch went from Arkady's
room to his study, and perching on the sofa at his son's feet, he was
looking forward to having a chat with him; but Bazarov at once sent him
away, saying he was sleepy, and did not fall asleep till morning. With
wide open eyes he stared vindictively into the darkness; the memories
of childhood had no power over him; and besides, he had not yet had
time to get rid of the impression of his recent bitter emotions. Arina
Vlasyevna first prayed to her heart's content, then she had a long,
long conversation with Anfisushka, who stood stock-still before her
mistress, and fixing her solitary eye upon her, communicated in a
mysterious whisper all her observations and conjectures in regard to
Yevgeny Vassilyevitch. The old lady's head was giddy with happiness and
wine and tobacco smoke; her husband tried to talk to her, but with a
wave of his hand gave it up in despair.

Arina Vlasyevna was a ge